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Cross  Corners 


BY 


ANNA    B.    WARNER 


BOSTON 
DE  WOLFE  &   FISKE  CO. 

20  Franklin  Street 


Copyright,  1887, 
By  Robert  Carter  &  Brothers. 


7R 

CROSS   CORNERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


In  a  certain  small  brown  house  on  the  outskirts 
of  a  country  village,  there  sat — once  upon  a  time 
— a  woman  at  work.  No  extra  yards  of  calico  had 
been  spent  in  trimming  her  dress ;  though  enough 
had  been  wrought  in,  and  enough  care  taken,  to 
make  the  dress  set  well  and  look  pleasant.  The 
little  collar  was  white  and  smooth,  if  it  was  not 
very  fine ;  and  the  fresh,  ample  blue  apron  had  a 
homelike,  thrifty  look.  The  wearer's  hair  too  was 
in  close,  glossy  order ;  only  a  few  curling  locks, 
shorter  than  the  rest,  had  escaped  from  bondage, 
as  if  with  the  habit  of  long  ago;  and  her  hands 
were  delicately  clean,  except  that  the  fingers  were 
marked  with  deep  lines  of  colour  from  the  threa^l 
and  silk  with  which  she  was  stitching  boot  tops. 
In  and  out,  in  and  out,  went  the  needle;  the  fin- 
gers never  paused,  the  worker's  eyes  never  lifted. 

If  you  could  have  seen  more  than  the  toe  of  the 

(5) 


6  CROSS  CORNERS. 

well-worn  shoe  that  shewed  beneath  the  dress,  you 
would  have  found  it  to  be  also  well-brushed  and 
well-tied. 

The  small  room  had  few  adornments,  and  those 
of  the  simplest  kind.  Like  its  mistress  it  was  in 
most  scrupulous  order,  which  certainly  gave  a 
sort  of  beauty  to  the  pine  table  and  hard  wooden 
chairs,  the  two  breadths  of  rag  carpet,  and  the 
bare  floor  beyond.  Vet  the  ornaments,  strictly 
speaking,  were  but  two:  the  one  a  broad  level 
sunbeam,  which  —  separated  somehow  from  its 
companions — streamed  goldenly  in  from  the  west; 
the  other  a  iiranch  of  sweet  musk  roses,  twining 
and  clambering  about  the  same  open  window  that 
let  in  the  sunbeam,  and  shewing  several  soft 
white  faces  to  the  dwellers  within  the  room. 

To  Mrs.  Keith's' eyes,  indeed,  there  was  yet  a 
third  beauty  amid  her  plain  surroundings ;  one  that 
far  surpassed  roses,  and  threw  even  sunshine  into 
the  shade:  and  that  was  her  own  little  daughter. 
Eunice  sat  on  a  low  stool  in  the  very  path  of  the 
sunbeam,  as  silent  as  that,  iind  more  motionless; 
for  wliilo  the  yellow  glow  crept  over  her  frock,  and 
leaving  first  the  little  feet  next  sent  a  farewell 
glance  into  her  face,  Eunice  never  stiri'ed.  On  her 
la[>  was  her  mother's  big  Bible;  and  with  the  vol- 


CROSS  COHN'ERS.  rj 

ume  open  at  one  particular  place,  Eunice  studied 
and  pondered  —  turning  a  leaf  or  two  now  one 
way  and  now  another,  but  never  failing  to  come 
back  from  such  short  wanderings  to  the  special 
chapter  in  hand.  Then  she  looked  up  from  her 
book,  and  gazed  straight  out  through  the  open 
window. 

'  We're  very  poor,  aren't  we,  mother  ?'  she  said, 
at  length. 

'  Why,  no — '  said  Mrs.  Keith,  gently.  '  I  do 
not  feel  "very  poor,"  Eunice.' 

'Don't  you,  mother?'  the  child  said,  wistfully. 
'  I  thought — sometimes — that  maybe  you  did.' 

'  Well,  sometimes — maybe  I  have — when  I  was 
naughty,'  said  Mrs.  Keith. 

Eunice  smiled  at  that;  her  mother  was  such 
perfection  of  goodness  to  her. 

'  Then  you  don't  really  think  we  are  poor, 
mother  ? '  she  said,  the  intent  look  coming  back. 

'  No,  on  the  contrary  I  think  we  are  very  rich.' 

'  Very  rich  ? '  said  Eunice  in  a  tone  of  wonder. 
She  looked  round  the  room, — at  the  floor,  the 
scanty  furniture,  her  mother's  dress,  and  the  work 
which  never  ceased  for  an  instant:  then  sat  think- 
ing. Even  the  two  breadths  of  rag  carpet  had 
been  mended ! 


g  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  But  we  are  not  rich  as  Queen  Esther  was, 
mother,'  she  said  at  last. 

'  How  was  she  rich?'  asked  Mrs,  Keith,  glanc- 
ing at  Eunice  and  her  book. 

'  I  guess  you  know,'  said  Eunice,  looking  down 
at  the  open  Bible  with  a  little  shake  of  her  head, 
and  fluttering  over  the  leaves.  '  Why — she  had 
the  royal  crown  upon  her  head,  mother! — the  king 
put  it  there  himself.  And  she  had  royal  apparel 
to  wear, — and  she  was  the  king's  wife.  And  the 
king  (that  was  A-has-ueras)  granted  whatever  she 
chose  to  ask  him.  And  she  prepared  banquets  for 
him  and  other  great  people.' 

'  Was  that  all  ? '  said  Mrs.  Keith. 
'  All  ? '  Eunice  repeated  in  great  astonishment ; 
'  wasn't   that   a   great  deal,  mother  ?     But  maybe 
you  think  the  queen  of  Sheba  had  more  ?' 

'  Wliat  did  the  queen  of  Sheba  have  ? '  said  Mrs. 
Keith. 

'  I  don't  know  exactly,'  said  Eunice,  turning 
back  now  from  Esther  to  the  Kings.  '  But  she 
wouldn't  liavo  brought  all  she  had,  when  she 
came  to  see  Solomon — do  you  think  so  ?' 

'  Xo,  I  should  think  not,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  I 
presume  she  brought  only  a  specimen  of  hor  riches, 
leaving  very  much  more  at  home.' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  9 

'Then  she  must  have  had  more  than  anybody 
ever  heard  of!  '  said  Eunice,  studying  the  verses 
and  then  reading  them  out  aloud. 

' "  She  came  to  Jerusalem  with  a  very  great  train, 
with  camels  that  bare  spices,  and  very  much  gold, 
and  precious  stones  "  — 

'And  then  afterwards  —  0  yes,  of  course  she 
must  have  left  plenty  more  at  home  ! 

'"She  gave  the  king  an  hundred  and  twenty 
talents  of  gold,  and  of  spices  a  very  great  store, 
and  precious  stones:  there  came  no  more  such 
abundance  of  spices  as  these  which  the  queen  of 
Sheba  give  to  king  Solomon." 

'  And  we  can't  get  even  a  spoonful  of  cinnamon !' 
said  Eunice  in  conclusion ;  not  at  all  complaining, 
but  wondering,  as  before.  She  sat  still,  poring 
over  the  passage,  and  happily  unconscious  that 
those  last  childish  words  had  made  her  mother's 
face  turn  white  with  pain.  But  the  swift  needle 
never  paused :  if  anything  it  flew  faster  than  before ; 
and  Eunice  sat  and  pondered.  At  last  she  broke 
forth  again. 

'  It  sounds  like  a  great  deal,  mother  ! ' 

'  It  was  not  much,  if  she  had  nothing  more,'  Mrs. 
Keith  answered  steadily. 

'But  whatever  made  her  bring  things  to  Sol- 


10  C/^OSS  CORNERS. 

omon,  1  wonder  ?  '  said  Eunice.  '■He  couldn't  have 
been  poor,  for  he  was  a  king.' 

'There  have  been  plenty  of  poor  kings,'  said 
Mrs.  Keith,  '  but  Solomon  was  certainly  not  one.' 

'  Well  I  should  think  not,'  said  Eunice,  reading 
on. 

'  "  Now  the  weight  of  gold  that  came  to  Solomon 
in  one  year,  was  six  hundred  thousand  talents  of 
gold." — Why  did  the  queen  of  Sheba  give  him  any 
more  ? ' 

'  She  brought  her  gifts  as  a  compliment.' 

'  If  she  wanted  to  compliment  him  very  much,' 
said  Eunice,  'she ought  to  have  brought  something 
he  hadn't  got  already.' 

'  Ah,'  said  Mrs.  Keith, '  that  she  could  not  do.  Sol- 
omon had  everything  this  workl  can  furnish,  and 
plenty  of  it.  Turn  back  to  the  fourth  chapter  of 
First  Kings,  and  yt)U  will  see  that  he  was  not  in 
Uiuch  need  of  earthly  treasure  of  any  sort.' 

'  I  should  rather  suppose  he  wasn't,'  said  Eu- 
nice, when  she  liiul  iouiidthr  ])la('e.     She  readout: 

'  "  And  Solomon's  provision  lor  one  day  was  thir- 
ty measures  oi' fine  flour,  and  threescore  nieasurcK 
of  meal;  t(;n  fat  oxen,  and  twenty  oxen  out  of  the 
pastures,  and  an  hundred  sheep,  besides  harts,  and 
foeliueks.  and  lallow  deer,  and  I'atted  fowl."' 


CA'OSS  CORNERS.  \\ 

The  vision  of  such  abundance  made  Eunice  look 
a  little  sober.  It  did  sound  so  good  !  Of  course 
there  was  always  fresh  bread,  and  plenty  of  it, 
with  so  much  flour  on  hand :  no  pay  to  wait  for, 
no  task  of  stitching  to  be  done  first ! — even  cake 
must  have  been  a  common  thing.  Eunice  glanced 
up  at  her  mother — but  except  for  a  certain  firm  set 
of  the  lips,  Mrs.  Keith  went  calmly  on  with  her 
boot  tops,  and  gave  no  sign  of  being  particularly 
impressed  with  the  supplies  of  Solomon's  great 
household. 

'  It  does  sound  like  a  great  deal,  mother  ?'  urged 
Eunice  wistfully. 

'  And  it  really  was  very  little,  if  they  had  nothing 
more,'  Mrs.  Keith  answered  again.  '  But  Eunice, 
love,  do  you  see  how  low  the  sun  has  fallen  ? — and 
your  teakettle  is  not  filled,  nor  the  fire  made.' 

'To  be  sure  ! '  said  the  child,  jumping  up  and  dis- 
lodging the  cat,  which  had  been  slumbering  un- 
seen beneath  her  apron.  She  laid  her  big  book 
carefully  down  on  the  table,  caught  up  the  kettle — 
then  paused. 

'  Hadn't  I  better  make  the  fire  first,  this  once, 
mother  ?  '  she  said.  '  Because  it's  so  late.  Then  it 
would  be  all  burning  bright  by  the  time  I  get 
back.' 


12  C/^OSS  CORXERS. 

'  But  if  you  should  meet  a  blue  bird  or  a  grey 
squirrel,  and  be  detained,'  said  Mrs.  Keith  with  a 
smile  at  her  little  daughter, — '  then  what?' 

'  Then  all  my  beautiful  chips  would  burn  up  for 
nothing,*  said  Eunice  laughing.  And  taking  firm 
hold  of  her  kettle  once  more,  she  ran  oflf  to  fill  it 
at  the  spring. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  spring  was  a  little  silvery,  bubbling  gush  of 
the  purest  water,  which  suddenly  uprising  from 
the  ground  near  Mrs.  Keith's  cottage,  then  ran  its 
musical  way  through  the  meadow  and  down  the 
hill,  a  sparkling  messenger  of  life  and  gladness.  Eu- 
nice always  went  to  the  very  spring  head  to  fill 
her  kettle,  where  the  water  spread  itself  out  in  a 
small  clear  basin  among  the  rocks,  and  an  old  beech 
tree  waved  its  shadows  overhead.  The  place  was  a 
great  delight  to  her.  Nobody  ever  seemed  to  come 
there  but  herself  and  the  blue  birds  (there  were 
springs  enough  elsewhere  in  the  village),  and  that 
only  made  it  all  the  better.  She  liked  to  see  the 
eager  rush  of  the  bright  water  from  its  hidden 
storehouse  underground;  always  coming,  coming, 
from  just  the  same  side  of  the  basin;  pouring  out 
its  fresh  sweet  supply  in  perfect  silence,  but  in 
such  haste  as  if  it  thought   the   whole  world  was 

thirsty  and  could  not  wait.     And   wait  the  world 

(13) 


14  CROSS  CORNERS. 

should  not,  for  so  much  as  this  spring  could  give. 
Wiiere  did  it  come  from,  where  did  it  go  to  ?  "All 
the  rivers  run  into  the  sea,  yet  the  sea  is  not  full." 
And  "  the  harvest  truly  is  plenteous,  but  the  labour- 
ers are  few."  There  are  more  cups  of  cold  water 
needed  than  either  you  or  I  will  ever  guess. 

Eunice  studied  the  spring  for  a  few  minutes 
this  afternoon;  the  soft  noiseless  uprising  of  the 
water, — then  turned  to  watch  the  dimpling  of  the 
little  brook  as  it  rushed  away  over  the  pebbles,  in 
greater  haste  than  ever  to  do  its  work,  and  now 
for  the  tii'st  time  beginning  to  dance  and  sing. 
What  a  hurry  it  was  in  ! — and  what  a  frolic !  Curl 
and  tumble  and  rush — so  it  went  on ;  the  tall 
grasses  bent  their  heads  ;  the  flowers  laughed 
through  their  tears;  but  the  little  pool  at  the 
spring-head  was  as  clear  and  still  as  if  neither 
dance  nor  tears  had  ever  been  heard  of.  The  sum- 
mer sky  seemed  to  pave  the  basin  with  its  perfect 
blue. 

'  Like  mother  and  me,'  thought  Eunice,  smiling 
to  herself  ovt-r  the  happy  conceit.  '  Because  I'm 
always  on  the  run,  and  she  never  stirs.  But  then 
every  single  thing  I  have  is  just  from  her.  Ah 
how  pretty  she  is  !'  And  Eunice  gazed  into  the 
clear   depths  of  the  little  pool,  and  thought  of  her 


CHOSS  CORNERS.  15 

mother's  eyes,  and  somehow  forgot   the   queen  of 
Sh*»ba.     Then  she  began  to  sing: 

'  Mother  and  I  live  all  together, 
Mother  and  I,  mother  and  I : 
In  sunshiny  days  and  in  rainy  weather, 

Mother  and  I. 
She  does  the  work  and  I  do  the  play, 
And  so  we  are  busy  all  the  day ; 
Mother  and  I.' 

Euttiice  had  perched  herself  on  one  of  the  gray 
atones  at  the  water's  edge,  leaning  over  and  sing- 
ing 1x)  the  spring;  but  now  a  sharp  rattle  of  horses' 
hoofs  cut  short  her  musing;  and  she  started  up  to 
look.  This  was  no  jolting  lumber  wagon,  nor  slow- 
toiling  load  of  hay. 

Down  the  broad  road,  fording  as  it  were  the 
flood  of  sunshine,  came  a  grand  carriage;  roll- 
ing along  with  such  swift,  easy,  springy  motion, 
that  it  seemed  to  Eunice  as  if  it  went  on  air.  Two 
high -stepping  black  horses  whirled  it  along;  their 
manes  tossing  in  the  wind,  their  harness  glitter- 
ing and  flashing  in  the  sunbeams.  The  very  coach- 
man had  gold  lace  on  his  hat,  and  the  ladies  inside 
the  carriage  were  like  nothing  in  the  world  but 
pink  and  blue  fairies,  with  wings  of  gauze  and 
gold. 


l(i  C/^OSS  CORNERS. 

So  Eunice  thought  as  she  beheld  them.  She 
stood  and  gazed  at  the  vision,  wonder-struck; 
shading  her  eyes  with  both  hands,  for  at  this  time 
of  (lay  tlie  old  beech  tree  could  not  play  parasol. 
The  landau  came  on,  had  almost  passed  her,  when 
suddenly  the  coachman  reined  up  his  horses,  and 
they  stopped  short;  champing  their  bits,  foaming 
and  impatient.  Then  the  coachman  signed  to  Eu- 
nice with  his  whip, — but  she  took  no  notice,  fasci- 
nated nov/  with  the  white  flecks  of  foam  the  horses 
tossed  over  their  smooth  black  coats.  The  man 
signed  again — then  called  out: 

'  Here  you,  little  girl ! — hillo  !' 

Eunice  started  and  turned  her  big  eyes  on  him, 
but  made  no  answer. 

•  Come  here,  I  said  I'  cried  the  coachman.  'You're 
wanted.' 

Slowy  and  timidly  Eunice  came  down  from  her 
gray  rock,  and  went  towards  the  carriage.  What 
could  they  want  with  her,  these  many-coloured 
fairies  I  Were  they  going  to  take  her  a  drive,  in 
their  grand  carriage  ? — she  had  read  of  such  things 
in  her  Sunday-school  story  books;  and  if  so,  would 
she  have  time  just  to  run  in  and  put  on  her  best 
shoes  and  her  Sunday  frock  ?  And  still  more  'if 
so,'    woiiM    they   ovor   bring   her   back  ?     Eunice 


CROSS  CORNERS.  17 

Keith's  heart  was  all  in  a  flutter  as  she  drew  near. 

'  Little  girl,'  said  a  pink  fairy,  '  is  there  good  water 
in  that  spring  over  yonder  ?  Good  drinking  water, 
I  mean.' 

'  O  yes  ma'am,  it's  splendid,'  said  Eunice,  very 
much  surprised.  Could  such  creatures  of  gauze 
and  gold  be  really  in  want  of  a  drink  of  common 
everyday  water  ? 

'  Don't  your  pigs  go  there  ?'  said  a  blue  fairy. 

'  No,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice.  '  We  haven't  got  any 
pigs.' 

'iS'or  ducks,  nor  geese,  nor  any  such  horrid  crea- 
tures ?' 

'  No  ma'am.' 

'  Chickens,  then — I'm  sure  you've  got  chickens,' 
said  the  pink  fairy. 

'  I  wish  we  had  some  chickens,'  said  Eunice  with 
a  little  shake  of  her  head;  '  but  we  haven't  a  thing 
to  keep,  except  our  cat.  And  she  don't  like  water 
much.' 

'  0  but  there  might  be  cows !'  said  the  one  in 
blue.        '  Little  girl,  what  does  drink  there  ?' 

'  Only  mother  and  I,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice.  '  And 
maybe  the  birds  sometimes,' 

'Birds  ?  ugh  !' — said  the  fairy  with  a  very  human 
gesture  of  disgust.     '  But  in  the  country  one  must 


Ig  CJiOSS  CORNERS. 

expect  all  sorts  of  horrid  things.  You  don't  have 
the  water  brought  iuto  the  house,  I  suppose, 
child?' 

*  No  ma'am,'  said  Eunice,  much  puzzled.  '  At 
least,  I  mean,  I  bring  it  for  mother  sometimes.' 

*  Easier  put  the  house  in  the  water,'  suggested  a 
green  fairy,  'if  that  is  the  house  !' — and  then  they 
all  laughed. 

'  And  so,'  began  the  pink  one  again,  '  you  bring 
the  water,  do  you  ?' 

'  Yes  ma'am,  for  mother. ' 

'  Well  you  may  bring  it  for  us,  now,'  said  the  one 
in  green.  'Just  get  me  some,  will  you,  child? 
And  see  that  the  tumbler  is  clean.' 

Eunice  dashed  off  into  the  cottage. 

'  Mother,  they  want  a  tumbler ! ' 

'  Who  does,  Eunice  ?  '  What  are  you  talking 
about?'  saith  Mrs.  Keith. 

'  In  the  carriage  ' —  said  Eunice,  breathless. 
'  They're  round  by  the  spring.     Such  ladies  ! ' 

'  Well  dear,'  said  her  mother  smiling,  'you  must 
tell  tlie  ladies  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  have  only 
a  mug  to  offer  tlicin.  Yon  know  pussy  broke  our 
hist  tiiiiibh-r.' 

'  I'ut  do  yon  tliink  they  can  drink  out  of  that  ? ' — 
Huid  l-.unicc,  looking  very  doubtfully  at  the   white 


CliOSS  CORNERS.  19 

earthen  mug  which  her  mother  handed  down  from 
the  cupboard. 

'  I  think  they  can,  if  they  are  thirsty.' 

*  O  puss,  puss  !' — cried  Eunice  in  a  tone  of  great 
discomfort. 

'  Never  mind  lecturing  the  kitten  till  you  come 
back,  Eunice,'  said  her  mother.  'Run  away,  my 
child :  always  do  promptly  what  you  mean  to  do.' 

But  still  Eunice  hesitated, — then  very  unwill- 
ingly took  up  the  little  mug  and  went  off  to  the 
spring.  There  dipped  and  poured  out,  dipped  and 
poured  out,  as  if  finding  a  leaf  or  a  speck  or  some- 
thing else  to  displease  her  every  time  ;  until  at  last 
the  carriage  load  lost  all  their  patience,  and  the 
coachman   shouted  out:  'Come,  child — hurry  up!* 

Never  was  water  fresher  or  brighter  or  sweet- 
er than  that  which  now  filled  the  little  mug,  yet 
Eunice  blushed  and  trembled  as  she  presented  it. 

'If  you  please,  ma'am,'  she  began,  screening 
her  eyes  as  much  from  the  ladies  as  the  sun — 

'  What  kind  of  a  thing  is  that  ? '  broke  in  the 
youngest  and  gayest  of  the  fairies.  '  Get  me  a  gob- 
let, child,  or  a  glass  tumbler, — do  you  hear  ?  I 
can't  drink  out  of  a  flower  pot.' 

The  rest  laughed,  and  Eunice  blushed  deeper  and 
deeper. 


20  C/aOSS  CORNERS. 

'  Pussy  broke  our  tumbler,  only  last  week,  ma'am,' 
she  said,  feeling  very  much  abashed.  '  Mother 
eavs  she's  sorry  she  has  nothing  but  this  to  send. 
But  it  isn't  a  flowerpot — it's  a  mug.' 

'  0 — is  it  ? '  said  the  pink  fairy.  '  Dear  me,  how 
one  picks  up  knowledge  !  Broke  your  tumbler, 
child  ?  Did  you  never  see  but  one  tumbler  in  your 
life,  for  pity's  sake  ?  ' 

'  Who  is  Pussy  ? '  questioned  an  older  lady  in 
white.     '  Your  little  sister  ?' 

*  Pussy's  my  kitten.' 

'Well  this  is  certainly  the  most  comical  place  ! ' 
said  the  pink  one  with  a  laugh.  '  They  buy  one 
tumbler,  and  give  it  to  the  cat  for  a  plavlhiiig !  I 
wonder  what  water  tastes  like,  out  of  a  mug  ?  ' 

'  I  am  going  to  try,'  said  another.  '  Mug  or  no 
mug,  a  drink  I  must  have.'  And  she  took  the  de- 
spised piece  of  pottery  and  raised  it  to  her  lips. 

'  The  water  is  cold,'  she  said,  stopping  to  look 
at  her  companions.  '  And  the  mug  is  clean.  I 
shall  see  the  bottom  of  it. — There,  little  girl, — now 
you  may  fetch  some  more.' 

Eunicf  did  fetch  some  more,  once,  twice,  and 
again,  until  all  the  ladies  were  satisfied  But  it 
took  a  while. 

'I  declare,'  saidono  of  them  at  last,  'it's  a  s^ame 


CROSS  CORNERS, 


21 


to  keep  the  child  trotting  so,  in  this  suffocating 
heat.  Do  have  done,  all  of  you.  Little  girl,  are 
there  strawberries  in  the  woods  hereabouts  ?  ' 

*Not  in  the  woods  so  much,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice, 
'but  in  the  fields  there  are  whole  quantities.  And 
about  the  edge  of  the  woods,  too.' 

'O,  delightful ! '  said  the  young  lady,  whom  her 
companions  called  Jane.  '  Do  you  hear  that,  girls? 
"  Whole  quantities."  Well  the  minute  they're  ripe, 
you  must  bring  me  some.  Bring  every  single  one 
you  can  find, — do  you  hear,  child?  1  live  at  the 
Cross  Corners  Cottage,  and  I'm  dying  for  strawber- 
ries.     Do  you  liear  ? ' 

'Yes  ma'am, — but  mother  might  want  part  of 
them,'  said  little  Eunice  doubtfully. 

'  Part  of  what  ?  the  strawberries  ?  0  nonsense, 
— she  can't  have  them,  child :  you  must  bring  them 
all  to  me.  I  require  a  great  many  every  day  for 
my  health.  Tell  your  mother  I'll  pay  a  dollar  a 
quart  for  them, — that'll  content  her,  I  fancy.  And 
here's  for  the  water.     Drive  on.' — 

'  Jane,  Jane  ! '  said  the  elder  lady  in  white.  But 
the  green  fairy  only  laughed,  and  the  carriage 
whirled  away  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  Eunice  saw 
it  no  more.  She  stood  alone  by  the  roadside,  with 
the  empty  mug  in  her  hand;  and  at  her  feet,  very 


22  CA'OSS  CORNERS. 

much  astonished  to  find  itself  there,  no  doubt,  lay 
a  bright  quarter  dollar.  Eunice  looked  at  it  vvitli 
unmistakable  disgust, — then  she  ran  round  to  the 
cottage  and  in  at  the  door, 

'  Mother,'  she  said,  as  she  set  the  mug  down, 
'there's  twenty-five  cents  out  in  the  road.' 

'  In  the  road  ? '  said  Mrs.  Keith,  '  twenty-five 
cents  ?     Why  didn't  you  pick  them  up,  Eunice  ?' 

'  0  it  isn't  "  them,"  at  all,'  said  the  little  girl  with 
a  gesture  of  her  head :  '  it's  //.  A  new  quarter, 
mother/ 

'  That  is  easier  yet  to  pick  up,'  said  Mrs.  Keith. 

*  But  I  don't  want  to  do  it !'  said  Eunice  with 
another  twist  of  her  little  self 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  the  poor  quarter  ? ' 
said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  Is  it  red  hot  ?  or  only  brown 
dusty?' 

*  0  it's  not  that^'  said  Eunice,  slowly  turning  the 
mug  round  and  round  upon  the  table.  '  Mother — 
I  don't  believe  a  single  one  of  those  ladies  ever 
even  saiv  a  mug  before  ! ' 

'  Then  they  have  learned  something  this  after- 
noon.' 

'  Learned  something?'  questioned  Eunice. 

'  Why  yc8,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  For  there  really 
are  a  good  many  earthen  mugs  in  the   world,  and 


CROSS  CORNERS.  23 

it  is  well  such  ladies  should  know  the  fact.  Pro- 
bably they  dropped  the  money,  Eunice,  and  we 
must  ask  Davy  to  take  it  back  to  them.' 

'  They  didn't  drop  it ! '  Eunice  burst  forth, — 
'they  just  threw  it  down.  I  suppose  they  thought 
I'd  jump  at  it, — and  I  don't  want  it  a  bit  more  than 
they  do  ! ' 

'  Oh  ! ' — said  Mrs.  Keith,  glancing  up  at  her 
disturbed  little  daughter,  and  now  beginning  to 
see  through  the  case.  '  But  where  is  your  kettle. 
Eunice  ? ' 

'  O  dear,  my  kettle  ! '  cried  Eunice :  '  they  made 
me  forget  that  too.  It's  at  the  spring.  Then  you 
think  I  ought  to  pick  up  the  money,  mother?'  she 
added  doubtfully. 

'  Unless  you  would  rather  have  me. 

But  at  that  Eunice  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  was  somewhat  the  way  with  this  little  girl,  to 
do  her  pleasant  duties  first,  and  push  the  unpleas- 
ant ones  into  a  corner.  So  today  she  would  begin 
with  filling  the  kettle.  But  on  her  way  to  the 
spring  Eunice  crossed  over  to  where  the  money  was, 
and  took  a  good  look  at  that:  she  would  not  pick 
it  uo  just  yet.  There  it  lay,  a  bright  new  quarter, 
as  shining  as  silver  and  the  mint  could  make  it; 
and  looking  as  if  it  might  have  gone  straight  from 
the  mint  to  its  late  owner's  velvet  purse  and  never 
have  touched  anything  less  dainty  than  the  delicate 
pink-kid-gloved  hand  which  had  thrown  it  down. 
The  dust  had  sprinkled  its  face  a  little,  to  be  sure, 
in  the  violence  of  the  fall;  but  through  that  dusky 
veil  the  silver  gleamed  out  still,  as  fresh  and  wliite 
and  brilliant  as  ever.  It  was  not  at  all  ugly  to 
look  at;  and  yet  Eunice  Keith's  young  forohoad 
puckered  up  into  a  very  decided  frown  of  disap- 
proval and  disgust 
(24) 


CROSS  CORNERS.  25 

'/don't  want  any  of  their  quarters,'  she  said  to 
herself,  gazing  down  at  this  particular  specimen ; 
'  and  I  don't  see  why  mother  does.  I  suppose  I'll 
have  to  pick  it  up  now,  in  spite  of  everything.  They 
flung  it  down  as  if  that  was  about  all  1  was 
worth ! ' — 

Yes,  she  must  certainly  pick  it  up,  but  as  I  said, 
not  the  first  thing.  Eunice  went  off  to  the  spring, 
and  dipped  her  kettle  full  from  the  ripphng  water, 
and  then  poured  it  out,  and  dipped  up  more,  just 
for  the  mere  pleasure  of  it.  Then  slowly  went 
through  the  process  a  third  time,  out  of  sheer  dis- 
like of  the  silver  quarter.  And  at  last,  suddenly 
taking  notice  of  the  long  shadows  and  the  sinking 
sun,  Eunice  caught  up  her  kettle  in  haste,  went 
over  to  the  road  once  more,  and  daintily  picked 
up  the  money  in  a  corner  of  her  apron.  Then, 
holding  it  as  far  off  as  the  limits  of  the  small  apron 
would  allow,  she  marched  into  the  house. 

'  There,  mother,' — she  said,  laying  the  piece  of 
silver  on  the  very  edge  of  Mrs.  Keith's  little  table; 
'  there  it  is  !  And  I'm  sure  /  never  want  to  see  it 
again.' 

An  amused  gleam  came  into  Mrs.  Keith's  eyes, 
blat  she  only  answered: 

'  Not  in  any  shape,  Eunice  ? ' 


26  CROSS  CORNERS. 

•  No  indeed,'  said  the  little  girl  decidedly. 
'They  flung  it  down  so' — and  Eunice  gave  the 
quarter  a  toss,  so  tiiat  it  clattered  down  upon  the 
floor,  and  then  picked  it  up  and  laid  it  on  the  edge 
of  the  table  again. 

Mrs.  Keith  gave  another  swift  look  at  her  little 
daughter,  a  rather  grave  one  this  time,  but  she 
said  no  more;  and  Eunice  put  the  kettle  on,  and 
lighted  her  chip  fire,  and  then  washed  her  hands 
and  began  to  set  the  table.  It  was  not  a  large  job 
to  do,  for  the  table  was  small  and  there  was  not 
much  to  set  on;  just  l)er  mother's  cup  and  saucer, 
and  her  own  little  bowl ;  with  the  two  small  plates, 
the  two  rather  large  knives,  and  two  clean,  coarse 
little  napkins.  What  was  to  follow  ?  Eunice 
paused,  apparently  trying  to  recollect.  Then  she 
ran  and  looked  in  the  bread  jar, — it  was  empty: 
in  tlie  small  safe — Ijut  there  was  nothing  there. 

'  Why  mother,'  she  began,  '  where  is  everything  ? 
I  thought  there  was  some  bread.  And  we  did 
leave  a  great  piece  this  noon.' 

'  Not  a  great  piece,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  Only  a 
little  one.' 

'Well  I  can't  find  that,'  said  Eunice.  'Not  a 
crumb,  mother  ! ' 

'  No,'  said   .Mrs.  Keith,  '  I  gave  it  away.     Little 


CROSS  CORNERS.  27 

lame  Benny  came  in  while  you  were  out  with  your 
kettle,  Eunice,  and  I  gave  it  to  him.  The  child 
had  had  neither  breakfast  nor  dinner.' 

'  Oh  ! — the  poor  little  thing  ! '  Eunice  cried,  and 
then  stopped  short,  her  sympathy  for  the  little  crip- 
ple suddenly  dashed  with  dismay  for  herself  Was 
she  therefore  to  have  no  supper  ?  '  But  Mrs.  Keith 
did  not  look  dismayed,  so  Eunice  took  heart. 

'  Then  shall  I  go  and  buy  some  bread,  mother  ?' 
she  asked. 

'  If  you  will,  dear.  I  must  not  stop  work  while 
there's  a  bit  of  daylight  left.' 

Eunice  whisked  off  into  the  next  room  for  her 
white  sunbonnet — (always  insisted  on  when  she 
was  going  of  errands) — and  the  next  minute  she 
stood  at  Mrs.  Keith's  elbow  again. 

'  I'm  ready,  mother,'  she  said.  '  Please  give  me 
the  money.' 

'  There  it  is,  love,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  with  a  sign  of 
her  head  towards  the  despised  quarter  which  still 
lay  with  a  timid  air  on  the  very  edge  of  the  table 
where  Eunice  had  placed  it. 

'  There  ? — Why  you  don't  mean  that^  mother  ?  ' 
cried  Eunice. 

'  I  mean  just  that.' 

'  I  couldn't  buy  good  bread  with  that ! '  said  Eu 


28  CROSS  CORNERS. 

nice  excitedly.     '  And  it  would  stick  in  my  throat ! ' 

'  Hush,  hush  I '  Mrs.  Keith  answered,  but  with- 
out losing  a  single  stitch.  *  When  you  speak  in 
such  haste,  my  child,  it  will  neither  be  words  ot 
wisdom  nor  words  of  truth.  The  money  is  not 
counterfeit,  and  it  is  honestly  come  by ;  therefore 
the  bread  will  be  good.' 

'  I  couldn't  eat  it ! '  said  Eunice,  her  breast  heav- 
ing with  a  whole  tumult  of  feelings  that  begged 
leave  to  come  out. 

'  Yes  you  could,  if  you  were  hungry,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith.  '  Run  away  now,  dear,  before  it  gets  dark, 
and  buy  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  a  pint  of  milk:  and 
don't  lose  the  change,  Eunice.' 

'  But  oh,  mother !'  pleaded  the  little  girl — '  couldn't 
you  please  give  me  some  other  money  ?  ]\Ir.  Grab 
might  have  this,  it  would  just  suit  him.' 

'  Dear,'  said  her  mother  gently,  '  this  is  all  the 
Lord  has  given  me  today.  There  is  not  another 
cent  in  the  house,  Eunice.' 

Eunice  burst  into  tears,  sobbing  quietly  as  she 
took  the  despised  quarter  and  went  off:  but  she 
said  no  more.  Of  course  there  was  no  more  to  be 
said. 

'  0  dear !  O  dear ! '  she  lamented  to  herself 
as  she  plodded  sadly  along  the  road.     '  I  don't  sep 


CROSS  CORNERS.  29 

why  we  have  so  little  money — and  the  queen  of  She- 
ba,  and  Solomon,  and  all  those  people  had  so  much  ! 
And  1  don't  see  how  mother  can  think  we're  not 
poor.  No  bread  in  the  house,  and  no  money  in  the 
house — only  this  hateful  piece.  If  she'd  only  seen 
'em  throw  it  down,'  thought  the  little  girl,  as  she 
recalled  the  air  of  the  pink  and  blue  fairies,  '  I  guess 
she  wouldn't  want  it  either.  Just  so ' — said  Eunice 
again,  giving  the  money  a  scornful  toss.  And  the 
money  was  seemingly  as  ready  to  part  company  as 
Eunice  herself,  for  it  sped  away  out  of  her  hand 
and  buried  its  face  at  once  deep  down  in  the  dust. — 
And  when  Eunice  looked,  behold  the  quarter  was 
out  of  sight ! " 

Now  there  are  some  things  which  you  hold  very 
cheap  indeed  until  you  have  lost  them,  and  then 
you  would  give  a  good  deal  more  than  their  worth 
to  get  them  back  once  more.  Eunice  presently 
forgot  all  about  the  ladies,  their  airs  and  their 
graces  and  their  bad  manners,  and  remembered  only 
that  the  lost  quarter  meant  bread  and  milk  for 
supper,  and  "change"  to  get  breakfast.  And 
worse  than  all,  the  losing  it  meant  grieving 
her  mother.  Just  at  first,  while  she  felt  sure  to 
find  it,  pride  made  a  fight. 

'  I'm  sure  /  never  want  to  see  its  ugly  face  again,' 


30  C/WSS  COKi\EJ^S. 

she  said  over  and  over  to  herself,  as  she  weut  back 
and  forth  across  the  dusty  road.  But  all  the  same, 
Eunice  was  extremely  ready  for  her  supper;  aud 
though  she  could  truly  say  she  had  not  meant  to 
lose  the  money,  that  fact  did  not  in  the  least  help 
the  search.  And  there  could  be  no  doubt  she  had 
been  very  careless.     And  where  could  it  be ! — 

What  if  her  mother,  who  had  worked  so  hard 
every  minute  of  all  that  long  day,  should  have  to  go 
to  bed  without  even  the  refreshment  a  bit  of  bread 
could  give  ?  Eunice  sobbed  right  out  again  at  that ; 
and  the  tears  came  so  fast,  that  if  the  quarter  had 
been  in  plain  siglit  she  could  hardly  have  seen  it, — - 
aud  if  it  had  been  at  all  soft-hearted,  it  must  have 
immediately  jumped  up  and  shewn  its  face.  Oh, 
how  foolish  and  naughty  she  had  been  ! — and  oh, 
what  should  she  do  ?  It  was  no  sort  of  use  to  look 
for  anytliing  with  such  tear-blinded  eyes ;  and  the 
depth  of  dust  was  as  bad  as  a  haystack  for  hiding 
needles  or  even  quarter  dollars.  The  case  seemed 
hopeless.     But  then  supper, — and  breakfast ! 

'  Eunice  Keith  ! — and  crying  like  anybody  else  !' 
cried  a  cheery  voice,  which  grew  sober  with  the 
knowledge  of  licr  grief,  and  yet  somehow  kept  the 
laugli  through  it  all.  *  Why  Eunice,  I  thought  you 
left  all  that  sort  of  thing  to  the  steaui  engines  and 


CKOSS   CORNERS.  31 

dropping  wells.     What's  the  matter,  small  child  ?' 

It  was  a  tall,  overgrown  boy  that  spoke, — over- 
grown perhaps  only  because  he  had  outgrown  his 
clothes  ;  tramping  along  the  highway  in  garments 
tco  short  and  too  straight  for  him,  and  just  kept 
from  bursting  out  at  elbows  by  sundry  broad 
strong  patches  where  the  holes  would  have  been. 
Barefooted,  and  with  an  old  sunburnt  straw  hat  to 
cover  his  wealth  of  curly  hair  ;  a  heavy  spade  on 
his  shoulder,  a  very  small  dinner  pail  in  his  hand, 

'  0  Davy !'  said  Eunice,  running  up  to  him  and 
seizing  the  freest  hand,  pail  and  all,  in  both  her 
own,  '  Fm  in  dreadful  trouble  !' — 

'  So  it  looks,'  said  David,  regarding  her.  '  That's 
plain.  But  what  I  don't  understand  is,  how  you 
went  so  slow  that  the  trouble  got  hold  of  you. 
Now  I  can  always  easier  run  than  fight.' 

'  Ah,  I  was  so  silly !'  said  Eunice,  pouring  out  her 
story.  'And  when  some  ladies  got  me  to  fetch 
water  for  them,  and  then  threw  down  money  to 
pay  for  it,  I  was  angry  and  wouldn't  pick  it  up.' 

David  whistled  slightly. 

'  Well  you  did  walk  slow,  sure  enough,'  he  said. 

'And  then  mother  made  me '—went  on  Eunice. 
'And  then  behold  it  was  all  we  had  ;  and  so  I 
brought  it  along  to  get  bread  and  milk  for  supper. 


32  CJiOSS  CORNERS. 

and  on  the  way  I  got  angry  again,  and  went  to 
tossing  the  money  about  as  the  lady  did.  And 
then  it  hopped  right  down  into  the  dust,  and  now 
I  can't  find  it !' — 

The  little  girl's  face  grew  long  again:  David 
took  up  his  whistling  where  he  had  left  it  oflf. 

'  Money  isn't  so  scarce  in  your  pocket  as  it  is  in 
mine,  I  should  say,'  he  remarked.  '  But  whatever 
made  you  angry,  small  child  ?' 

'  Because  they  threw  it  down  so,'  said  Eunice 
reddening. 

'  Uncivil  messengers,  were  they  ?'  said  David, 
slowly  pushing  the  dust  about  with  his  bare  foot. 
'  And  did  you  think  it  was  their  money  they  threw 
down  ?' 

•  Why  of  course  I  did  !'  said  Eunice.  '  It  must 
have  been,  you  know,  Davy.' 

'Small  child,  small  child! — what  a  foolish  child 
you  were,'  said  David.  '  Didn't  you  just  tell  me 
you  had  no  other  money  in  the  house  ?' 

'  Not  another  cent.' 

'  Tlieii  don't  you  see,'  said  David,  stopping  short 
and  confronting  her,  '  that  it  was  the  Lord's  ? '  And 
that  being  so,  they  couldn't  spoil  it,  small  child, 
not  if  they  tried  their  nicest.' 

•  Why     Davy ! ' — said    little    Eunice,     catching 


CHOSS  CORNERS.  33 

her  breath  as  she  looked  at  hira.  'The  Lord's 
money  ?  ' 

'  To  be  sure  it  was,'  said  David.  '  Just  that  and 
no  other,  Eunice  Keith.  "The  silver  and  gold  are 
the  Lord's,"  all  the  world  over.  He  knew  a  little 
change  would  come  handy*  tonight,  and  so  he  sent 
it  along  by  the  jfirst  chance.  Maybe  all  the  real 
angels  were  busy,  and  he  just  took  up  with  these 
folks.  But  they  brought  the  money  all  right, — he 
saw  to  that ;  and  then  you  flung  it  away.' 

Eunice  stood  gazing  at  him  with  wide  open  eyes. 

'But  if  it  had  been  the  Lord's  money,'  she  said, 
'  wouldn't  he  have  sent  more  ?  A  whole  dollar, 
perhaps, — only  think,  Davy ! ' 

'  Very  nice  to  think  of,'  said  David,  '  but  it's  just 
as  it  happens  about  the  Lord  sending  it.  Some- 
times it's  more,  and  sometimes  it's  less.  Just  as  it 
is  with  the  birds,  you  know,  Eunice.  Tonight 
they're  in  a  green  meadow,  and  tomorrow  in  a  sandy 
plain,  but  there's  always  something  ;  and  "  that 
thou  givest  them,  they  gather."  The  Lord  has 
sent  me  one  cent  at  a  time,  often  enough.' 

'  And  you  always  take  it  ?  '  said  Eunice. 

'  Always — and  glad  enough  too,'  said  David  with 
a  laugh.  'Why  small  child,  whatever  the  Lord 
sends   has  a  blessing  in  it.     Can't  you  tell   when 


34  CJ?OSS  CORNERS. 

things  come  from  him  ?  I  always  know  'em,  right 
off.' 

'  But  how  ? '  said  Eunice  wondering.  '  How 
covld  I  know,  Davy  ?' 

'  See  here,'  said  David,  taking  a  little  knotty  bit 
of  white  wood  from  his  pocket,  '  put  your  nose  to 
that,  Eunice.' 

'  0  it's  been  among  lavender,'  said  the  little  girl, 
lidding  the  wood  up  to  her  face.  '  And  it's  ever 
so  sweet.' 

'  Just  so,'  said  David.  '  And  just  so,  all  things 
that  come  from  God  are  sweet  too :  rough  hand- 
ling by  the  way  can't  spoil  'em.  They've  "been 
among"  his  loving  plans  and  purposes;  and 
every  single  one  is  "  perfumed  with  myrrh  and 
frankincense"  from  the  Lord's  own  touch.  See — 
I've  notched  that  stick  and  whittled  it  down,  and 
cut  all  sorts  of  jogs  in  it, — and  then  couldn't  cut 
the  knots  out ;  but  the  scent  of  the  lavender  holds 
to  it  yet.  Why  small  child,  what  do  we  care  for 
anything,  if  we  have  the  Lord's  love  ?'  And  Da\ad 
chanted  joyously,  in  a  clear,  round  voice,  but  still 
searching  on  and  on  across  the  dusty  road: 

"  Many  waters  cannot  quench  the  love, 

"  And  1U)0<1h  ciuinot  wash  it  away. 

"  If  imv  should  give  all  the  wealth  of  his  house  for  love, 

"  Treading  down  -they  tread  upon  it." 


CROSS  CORNERS.  35 

Eunice  nodded  her  head  in  grave  approval  of 
the  singing. 

'  I  think  it's  very  good  they've  got  you  in  the 
choir,'  she  said.  '  But  David — what  do  you  mean 
exactly  ? ' 

'  Mean  ?'  said  David, — '  why  I  mean  that  God's 
children  should  take  the  good  of  everything  that 
comes  to  them — or  that  don't  come.  They've  no 
business  to  feel  poor :  and  no  reason  either.' 

'  Well,  so  mother  says,'  answered  little  Eunice. 
'  I  guess  she  thinks  we're  real  rich,  Davy.  But  I 
don't  see  how  she  can ;  I  don't.  Just  think  of  the 
Queen  of  Sheba,  and  all  she  had  ! — and  Queen  Es- 
ther too !' 

'  If  you  read  the  Bible  only  in  spots,  it'll  puzzle 
you,  like  as  not,'  said  David.  '  Do  you  know  the 
Lord's  prayer,  Eunice  Keith  ?' 

'  Why  of  course  I  do,'  said  Eunice.  '  I  say  it 
ever  so  often.' 

*  What  do  the  very  first  words  mean  ? ' 

*  Mean  ?  '  Eunice  repeated.     '  The  very  first  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  answered  David.  '  What  do  you  mean 
when  you  say  them  ?  ' 

'  I — don't  know,'  said  Eunice  slowly.  *  They're 
just  words  to  God,  Davy.' 

'  But  words  to  God  ought  to  mean  something,' 


36  CROSS  CORiVERS. 

said  David,  patiently  crossing  the  road  again  on  his 
dusty  search.     Eunice  followed  him. 

'  I  suppose  1  thought  it  was  a  way  to  begin,'  she 
said,  studjang  the  matter.  '  Just  a  sort  of  title  you 
know,  or  a  name.' 

'  Yes,*  said  David,  '  but  "  the  name  of  the  Lord 
is  a  strong  tower,"  and  it  won't  do  to  stand  out- 
side. It  is  when  "  the  righteous  runneth  into  it,'' 
Eunice,  that  he  is  "safe."' 

'What  do  they  mean  to  you,  Davy?'  said  the 
little  girl,  looking  grave. 

'  Those  first  w^ords  of  the  Lord's  prayer  ? '  said 
David.  '  Why  small  child,  they  mean  so  many 
things,  that  I  don't  know  where  to  begin.  But  I 
ihink  tliis  comes  first :  a  sort  of  feeling  of  what 
somebody  calls  "the  creature  and  the  Creator."  I 
read  that  in  a  paper  once.  And  then  I  hunted  it 
up  in  my  Bil)lc. 

'  "O  Lord,  thou  art  our  father;  we  are  the  clay, 
and  thou  our  potter;  and  we  are  all  the  work  of 
thy  hands."     Is.  64.  8.' 

'  Well  ?  '  said  Eunice. 

'  Don't  you  sec  ? '  David  answered.  '  A  man 
that  makes  a  bowl  or  a  di.sh,  makes  it  what  shape 
he  likes,  and  puts  it  wlicri'  he  likes,  and  does  with 
it  what  he  likes.     And  it's  nobodv's  business  but 


CROSS  CORNERS.  37 

his  own.     Some  of  'em  he  trims  up,  and  some  of  'em 
he  doesn't.' 

'  But  rd  like  to  be  one  of  the  trimmed  up  dishes, 
said  Eunice,  thinking  of  the  carriage  load  of 
fairies. 

'  So  it  seems,'  said  David.  '  But  I'd  like  to  be 
just  what  the  Lord  made  me  for,  and  to  do  just 
what  he  meant  me  to  do.  A  plain  white  mug,  in 
his  hand,  can  be  just  as  clean — and  hold  as  much — 
as  one  of  those  fussy,  gilt-edged  things.  So  when 
I  pray  that  prayer,  small  child,  I  mean,  '  O  Lord, 
thou  hast  made  me, — do  with  me  what  thou  wilt.' 

'  Suppose  it  was  something  bad  ? '  said  Eunice. 

'  Couldn't  be,'  said  David.   '  Not  if  the  Lord  did  it.' 

'  It  might  be  disagreeable,'  said  Eunice. 

'  No  it  couldn't.  Not  if  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to 
like  what  the  Lord  liked. 

*  "All  that  he  blesses  is  our  good; 
And  unblest  good  is  ill : 
And  all  is  right  that  seems  most  hard, 
If  it  be  his  sweet  will ! " ' 

'  I  guess  you  read  a  good  many  papers  and 
things,'  said  Eunice  with  a  wise  shake  of  her  head. 
'  Davy,  what  do  you  think  he  made  you  for  ?  ' 

David  laughed  a  little,  as  if  half  shy  of  his  own 
thought. 


38  C/^OSS  CO/^A'/iA'S. 

'  I  don't  know  yet,'  he  said.  '  I  haven't  found 
out.  I'm  trying  hard  to  think  he  meant  me  for  a 
minister.' 

'  0 !  ' — said  Eunice  in  great  surprise,  glancing 
from  the  bare  feet  to  the  honest  sunburnt  face :  '  do 
you  ?  I  think  you'd  make  a  very  nice  minister, 
Davy,'  she  went  on  doubtfully, — 'a  real,  real  good 
one.  But  then — Davy, — you^d  have  to  have  shoes 
first.  And  a  great  many  other  things,'  ended 
Eunice  comprehensively. 

'Fact,'  said  David, — 'I'd  need  a  good  deal  of 
trimming  up,  shouldn't  I  ?  But  if  the  Lord  chose  to 
give  me  all  the  rest,  he  wouldn't  stop  at  the  shoes. 
They'll  come  if  they're  wanted,  small  child.' 

'  What's  the  next  thought  ?  '  saitl  Eunice,  knit- 
ting her  brows  as  if  she  found  the  first  one  not 
to  her  taste. 

'  Well  sometimes  it's  just  a  sort  of  going  over 
the  other,'  said  David.  '  Encouraging  myself  in  the 
Lord,  you  know.  Because  folks  are  vexatious,  and 
things  are  rough;  and  it's  a  wonderful  help  to  get 
your  mind  on  something  l)right  and  steady.  For 
you  see,  Eunice,  it's  litth^  odds  how  people  treat 
us,  when  we  can  set  our  hearts  on  such  words  as 
these. 

'  "  Doubtless  til  on  art  our  Father,  though  Abra 


CROSS  CORNERS.  39 

ham  be  ignorant  of  us,  and  Israel  acknowledge  us 
not:  thou,  O  Lord,  art  our  Father." — Is.  Ixiii.  16. 

'  And  then  it  all  comes  quick  in  a  minute: 

' "  Behold,  what  manner  of  love  the  Father  hath 
bestowed  upon  us,  that  we  should  be  called  the 
sons  of  God." — John  3.  1. 

'  Sometimes  I  just  stay  thinking  of  that, — it  is 
so  wonderful.' 

'  Is  it  ?'  said  Eunice.  '  I  never  thought  about  it 
before.' 

'  Eunice  Keith,'  said  the  boy,  '  do  you  see  me  ?' 

'  Why  yes,'  said  Eunice,  '  of  course  I  do.' 

'  Take  a  good  look  at  me  now,'  said  David, — 
'bare  feet,  old  coat,  good-for-nothing  heart,  and  all.' 

'  Well  I  can't  see  your  heart,'  said  Eunice  laugh- 
ing, '  and  I  think  it's  good  for  a  great  deal,  besides; 
but  I  see  all  the  rest,  Davy.* 

'Very  well,'  said  David.  ' Now  look  up  at  the 
sky,  and  just  listen  a  minute :  "  When  I  consider 
thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers,  the  moon  and 
the  stars  which  thou  hast  ordained ;  what  is  man 
that  thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?  or  the  son  of  man 
that  thou  visitest  him  ?" '— Ps.  8.  3,  4. 

'  It  makes  you  very  happy,  doesn't  it  Davy?' said 
Eunice,  with  a  wondering  look  at  the  bright  face. 

'  Happy  ?'  said  David.     '  Why   here's  one  sun- 


40  CA'OSS  CORNERS. 

shine  wrapping  me  all  up  in  its  glory,  and  there's 
the  other  brighter  yet,  just  fiDing  my  whole  heart. 
And  I  know  it  is  all  for  the  sake  of  "that  Princely 
One,  ray  Lord  Jesus.'" 

'  I  like  your  prayer  very  much,  Davy,'  said  little 
Eunice.  '  I  think  it's  beautiful.  But  if  you  find  so 
many  things  in  all  the  words,  I  shouldn't  think 
you'd  ever  get  through.' 

David  laughed, — a  happy,  joyous  ring  of  pleas- 
ure. 

'  You  don't  suppose  that's  all  ?'  he  said.  '  Why 
every  single  word  has  got  more  in  it  than  that. 
There's  your  money,  this  minute !' — 

And  David,  still  pushing  about  the  roadside 
dust  as  he  talked,  suddenly  pushed  into  sight 
the  very  quarter  dollar  which  had  made  all  the 
fuss. 

'  My  money  !*  cried  Eunice,  darting  upon  it.  '  0 
I'm  so  glad !  O  thank  yon,  Davy  ! — you're  the 
very  best  boy  that  ever  was.  Now  we'll  walk 
on  fast  to  the  baker's,  and  you  can  tell  me  some 
more.' 

'  Not  another  word — uoi"  another  step — ^your 
way,  tonight,'  said  David.  'Time's  more  than 
up,  and  I  must  run  for  it.  Good-night,  small 
child, — and    don't    forget    ivhose   child    you    are, 


CROSS  CORNERS.  41 

— and  off  he  went  down  a  cross  road  at  the 
double  quick,  while  Eunice  ran  on  to  the 
baker's. 

'Whose  child?'  she  repeated  to  herself,  as  she 
hurried  along.     '  Why  I'm  mother's,  of  course  !' 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  LOAF  of  bread  and  a  pint  of  milk  and  sundry  pre- 
cious coppers  in  the  way  of  change,  are  quite 
enough  to  burden  two  small  hands:  and  Eunice 
found  hers  so  full  on  the  way  home  from  the  baker's, 
that  it  took  all  her  tliouglits  and  all  her  care  to 
keep  them  steady  and  safe. 

Coming  into  the  small  cottage  at  last,  with  every- 
thing all  right,  she  set  herself  first  to  rouse  up  the 
fire  and  hurry  the  tea;  putting  ofi'all  talks  for  the 
present.  For  the  dusk  was  falling  fast  now,  and 
already  her  mother  had  laid  down  her  work,  and 
sat  idly  by  the  window,  folding  her  busy  hands. 
It  was  the  only  time  of  day  when  they  ever  really 
rested, — those  few  minutes  between  daylight  and 
candlelight.  Candles  were  too  costly  to  be  lit  be- 
fore tea,  and  that  meal  was  generally  taken  amid 
the  shadows.  TM-ilights  were  long  just  now;  and 
as  Eunice  remarked,  there  was  never  such  a  va- 
riety upon  the  tabic  that  there  could  be  much  dan- 

(42) 


CROSS  CORNERS.  43 

ger  of  making  mistakes,  or  that  mistakes  would  be 
very  serious.  The  brown  loaf,  the  white  milk — or 
perhaps  only  a  pitcher  of  the  fair  spring  water: 
Mrs.  Keith's  tea  table  rarely  boasted  greater  dainties 
than  these.  The  little  brown  teapot  came  on  too 
when  it  could,  and  always  wild  fruit  in  its  season  ; 
but  neither  one  in  the  company  of  sugar  and  cream. 
Still,  strawberries  are  a  great  thing,  even  in  their 
own  unadorned  sweetness;  and  Eunice  thought  sho 
had  good  cause  to  decline  any  proposal  which 
should  cut  off  this  welcome  change  in  their  sup- 
plies. But  would  her  mother  think  as  she  did  ? 
Somehow  this  afternoon's  talk  and  work  had  shak- 
en the  child's  ideas  into  a  good  deal  of  confusion. 
Eunice  fell  into  a  brown  study  again,  as  she  scalded 
the  wee  earthen  teapot,  and  put  in  carefully 
the  minute  pinch  of  tea  for  her  mother's  cup. 
Could  her  mother  ever  be  willing  to  sell  their  straw- 
berries ? — and  of  course  raspberries  too,  and  blue- 
berries; and  the  wild  prickly  gooseberries  which 
were  the  delight  of  Eunice's  heart.  She  turned 
round  to  ask  the  question, — then  stopped  to  listen ; 
for  Mrs.  Keith  was  singing  softly  there  in  the  win- 
dow, looking  out  towards  the  fast  fading  colours  of 
the  evening  sky,  and  the  fast  brightening  glory  of 
the  evening  star. 


i4  CHOSS   COA\V£MS. 

Many  a  time  had  Mrs.  Keith  rested  her  heart 
with  Whittier's  lovely  lines: 

"  I  know  not  Avhere  Ms  islands  lift 

"  Their  frouded  palms  in  air. 
"  I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 

"  Beyond  his  love  and  care." 

But  as  days  went  on,  and  life  pressed  harder, — 
it  was  a  time  of  dead  stagnation  in  all  the  village 
industries, — the  poet's  thought  had  rung  itself  out 
in  other  and  closer-fitting  words  in  the  heart  of  his 
unknown  admirer.  Eunice  held  her  breath  to 
listen. 

"  I  know  not  where  those  treasuie  ships 

**  Lie  waiting  on  the  tide ; 
"  But  well  I  know  the  ebb  and  flow 

'*  Are  thine  alone  to  guide. 

"I  know  not  when  the  wind  will  shift 

"  That  holds  these  out  at  sea  : 
"  But  well  I  know,  they  come  and  go 

"  Not  for  the  wind,  Irat  Thee." 

There  was  a  quiet,  sweet,  contented  chime  in 
the  words  that  found  no  echo  in  the  heart  of  the 
young  listener.  Eunice  could  not  have  told  why, 
but  the  song  made  her  feel  lonely. 

'Mother,'  .she  naid,  sliding  her  little  hand  into 
Mrs.  Keith's,   '  your  tea's  ready.     And  my  milk.' 


en  OSS  CORNERS. 


Ab 


'  And  mj  Eunice,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  wrapping 
aer  arms  round  the  child,  and  drawing  her  oil"  to 
the  table.     '  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  walk,  love  ?' 

'  0  yes,'  said  Eunice :  '  pretty  pleasant.  At  least 
part  of  it  was.  Part  of  it  was  very  pleasant.  I  met 
Davy,  mother,  and  he  told  me  such  beautiful 
things.' 

'  Davy's  heart  is  so  full  of  beautiful  things,'  said 
Mrs.  Keith,  '  that  he  cannot  help  speaking  them 
out.     What  di«I  he  tell  you  tonight,  Eunice  ?' 

'Well  he  said  one  very  queer  thing,'  said  Eunice, 
beginning  as  usual  at  the  end  of  her  story.  '  He 
told  me  not  to  forget  whose  child  I  was.  As  if  I 
could,  you  know  ! '  and  Eunice  laughed  merrily  at 
the  idea.  '  I  guess  I  sha'n't  make  such  a  disagree- 
able mistake  as  that  in  a  hurry.' 

'  Ah  I  think  I  know  what  David  meant,'  said 
Mrs.  Keith.  'And  you  are  quite  sure  you  never 
forget,  Eunice  ? ' 

'  Why  mother!' — and  the  little  girl  looked  hurt 
and  half  ready  to  cry:  'how  could  I? — when  I 
love  you  so  much  better  than  anybody  else  in  the 
whole  world  ? ' 

Mrs.  Keith  smiled  at  her  very  reassuringly. 

'  I  do  not  think  you  would  ever  mistake  any 
body  else  for  me,  love,'  she  said;  '  and  yet  I  under 


46  CROSS  CORNERS. 

stand    Davj.       But    A\'hat    made    him    say   that, 
Eunice  ?* 

'  Wliy — I  hardly  know  myself,'  said  Eunice,  re- 
turning to  her  bread  and  milk  with  a  quiet  heart. 
'You  see,  mother,  in  the  first  place  1  lost  the 
money.' 

'  Lost  it  ? '  Mrs.  Keith  repeated. 
'Yes  ma'am, — that  was  before  Davy  came  along. 
I  guess  I  Avas  very  foolish.'  said  Eunice  looking 
down, '  and  so  I  felt  vexed,  mother, — and  so  then  I 
was  making  believe  throw  it  down  as  the  lady 
did.  And  then  the  first  thing  I  knew,  it  just  hid 
itself  in  the  dust.' 

'  And  took  with  it  all  my  little  daughter's  fool- 
ishness, I  dare  say,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  That  is 
what  happens  when  we  throw  away  something  the 
Lord  has  given  us.  After  it  is  gone,  we  grow  wise, 
and  know  its  worth.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Eunice  shaking  her  iioati,  '  I  knew, 
quick  enough.  But  you  see,  mother,  T  never  did 
feel  as  if  God  gave  that, — not  a  bit.  It  looked  so 
ugly.' 

'  If  you  wear  a  blue  veil  you  will  see  a  blue 
world,'  said  Mr.s.  Keith ;  '  but  it  will  not  be  the 
fault  of  the  grass  and  trees.' 

'  No,  I  s'pose  it  was  all  my  fault,'  said  Eunice 


CROSS  CORNERS.  47 

with  a  little  sigh.  *  But  I  am  glad  the  quarter  is 
changed,  anyway.  The  milk  don't  look  blue, 
mother, — not  so  very.' 

But  Mrs.  Keith  did  not  at  once  answer  that  ;  so 
suddenly  the  lesson  she  was  giving  returned  upon 
herself.  For  the  milk  was  blue  ! — and  with  no 
fault  of  the  eyes  that  looked  at  it:  and  tears 
rushed  up  and  stayed  the  mother's  examination, 
as  she  thought  of  the  cream  she  would  fain  have 
had  for  her  darling,  and  could  not  afford  to  buy. 
Kich  yellow  cream,  such  as  in  her  own  young 
days  had  always  crowned  the  bowls  of  bread 
and  milk  But  Eunice  Tvent  on  eating  her  sup- 
per with  happy  childish  appetite  and  unconcern. 

'  It  isn't  bad  at  all,'  she  said  critically ;  '  and  he 
gave  us  a  good  deal  for  a  pint,  mother.  Well,  you 
see,  when  I  lost  the  money  and  got  so  many  tears 
in  my  eyes  that  I  couldn't  find  it,  then  Davy  came 
along  and  scolded  me  a  little,  in  his  nice  way.  I 
always  feel  scolded,  though  what  he  says  don't 
sound  a  bit  like  it.  And  then  he  talked  more  to 
me,  and  found  my  money.  But  I  didn't  know  the 
Lord's  prayer  meant  so  much,  mother.' 

'So  much  as  what  ? ' 

'  As  Davy  says,'  answered  Eunice,  thoughtfully, 
finishing  her  bread   and  milk.      '  Why  he   found 


48  C/?OSS  CORNERS. 

enough  in  just  a  little  bit  of  it,  to  last  him  a 
mouth,  1  guess.  Mother,  here's  a  half  slice  of 
bread  all  cut.' — 

'  Eat  it  up,  then, — I  do  not  want  it,'  her  mother 
answered.  '  And  such  a  small  piece  would  be  sure 
to  get  dry.' 

'  Yes,  I  s'pose  it  would  be  dry  enough  by  break- 
fast time,  so  I  may  as  well,'  said  Eunice.  '  Isn't  it 
funny,  mother  ?  I  can  almost  always  eat  a  little 
piece  more — and  you  never  can. ' 

The  child  laughed,  munching  her  little  dry 
crust  (already  quite  'dry  enough*^  with  right  good 
eagerness:  the  mother  was  very  still. 

I  know  not  when  the  wind  will  shift 
That  liolds  them  out  at  sea. — 

So  the  words  seemed  to  echo  through  the  little 
room.     But  sweeter  words  followed: 

"  Which  neither  have  storehouse  nor  barn,  yet 
your  heavenly  Father  feedeth  them." 

'  Wc  haven't  eaten  more  than  half,' — so  Eunice's 
young  voice  broke  in ;  '  there'll  be  plenty  for 
breakfast  without  my  little  piece.  I  wonder  what 
Davy's  got  for  supper?  Mother,  sometime  when 
strawberries  are  ripe,  mayn't  1  invite  him  to  come 
to  tea  y ' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  49 

'You  may  invite  him  before  that,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith,  smiling  at  Eunice's  long  words.  '  }so  need 
to  wait  for  strawberries,  love.' 

'  They  make  so  much  more,  you  know,'  said  the 
little  girl,  with  another  glance  at  the  small  half 
loaf.  '  Davy  must  get  very  hungry,  mother,  for 
he  digs  and  digs  the  whole  day  long. 

'Does  he?'  said  Mrs.  Keith  quietly.  'Well,  we 
will  do  the  best  we  can,  Eunice.' 

But  Eunice  did  not  answer:  the  mention  ot 
strawberries  had  brought  up  another  thought. 

'  Mother,'  she  said  suddenly,  '  would  you  like  to 
let  somebody  else  have  all  our  strawberries  ? ' 

'  Why  no,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  '  I  do  not  think  I 
should  like  it  at  all,  Eunice.  Unless  it  were  some- 
one who  needed  them  more  than  we  did.' 

'  The  green,  lady  said  she  was  dying  for  strawber- 
ries,' observed  Eimice. 

'That  sounds  as  if  she  was  still  living  quite 
comfortably,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  So  she  need  not 
have  them  all,  Eunice.' 

'  But  she  said  she'd  give  a  dollar  a  quart.' — 
Eunice  jerked  the  words  out  as  if  they  stung  her; 
but  she  was  startled  by  her  mother's  eager  cry : 

'  A  dollar  a  quart !     O  Eunice,  you  must  have 

misunderstood. ' 
4 


50  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  No  indeed,'  said  Eunice  steadily ;  '  that  was 
just  what  she  said.  Because  I  told  her  you  wanted 
them — and  she  said  she  guessed  that  would  con- 
tent you.  As  if'  we  liked  money  better  than  straw- 
berries ! '  added  the  little  girl  indignantly. 

But  again  Mrs.  Keith  made  no  answer;  and 
when  at  last  she  spoke,  it  was  about  something 
quite  different,  Eunice  thought. 

*  And  so,  daughter,  you  never  forget  whose  child 
you  are  ? ' 

'I  couldn't,  you  see,'  said  Eunice.  'There's 
something  to  make  me  remember  it  every  minute. 
So  I  don't  know  what  Davy  meant.* 

'  Well  I  think  1  do,'  said  her  mother.  '  At  least 
I  think  we  can  find  out.  Clear  away  the  table, 
dear,  and  we  will  try.' 


CHAPTER  V. 

So  Mrs.  Keith  lit  her  candle  and  took  up  the  end- 
less binding  and  stitching  once  more ;  and  Eunice 
frisked  softly  about  the  room,  clearing  the  table, 
washing  the  plates,  and  brushing  up  the  crumbs; 
until  the  bare  old  kitchen  was  as  neat  as  hands 
could  make  it.  Then  she  drew  the  white  curtains 
across  the  window,  brought  her  own  little  bench 
and  her  mother's  big  Bible  as  near  as  might  be  to 
the  somewhat  faint  and  wavering  centre  of  illumi- 
nation, and  took  her  seat  with  an  air  of  happy  ex- 
pectancy. '  Shall  I  read  first,  mother  ? '  she  said. 
'  Or  are  you  going  to  talk  first  ?' 

'  We  will  do  both  together,'  said  Mrs.  Keith, 
who  had  stopped  her  work  long  enough  to  make 
three  or  four  notes  on  an  old  card. 

*  Take  these  verses  in  order,  dear,  and  let  us  read 
them  and  talk  them  over  one  by  one.' 

'  I  never  read  a  great  deal  in — Chronicles,'    said 

Eunice,  bringing  out  the  long  word  with  great  de-- 

(51) 


52  CROSS  CORNERS. 

liberation  as  she  fluttered  over  the  leaves  of  her 
Bible.  'It's  all  " the  thirteenth  of  Huppah,"  aud 
*'  the  two  and  twentieth  of  Gammel,"  and  "  the 
fifth  of  Nethaniah."  I  s'pose  some  people  under- 
stand it.  0  this  verse  don't  look  hard.'  And  Eu- 
nice read,  first  to  herselt  and  then  aloud: 

"  I  will  be  his  Father,  and  he  shall  be  my  son." 

1  Chr.  17.  13. 

'Well,  mother,'  she  said,  looking  up. 

'  Well,  daughter,'  said  Mrs.  Keith, — '  if  God  is 
our  Father,  then  we  are  his  children.' 

'Yes,  of  course, — so  Davy  says:  I  know^/iaf,' — 
said  Eunice.  '  I  thought  your  verses  would  be 
something  different,  mother.' 

'  Find  the  next  one,'  said  Mrs.  Keith. 

'The  first  chapter  of  Isaiah  and  the  second  verse. 
I  like  Isaiah,'  said  Eunice,  fluttering  the  leaves 
again.  '  It's  so  funny,  about  the  "  wimples,"  and 
the  "  crisping  pins."    This  is  the  place: 

"Hear,  0  heavens,  and  give  ear,  O  earth:  for  the 
Lord  hath  spoken.  I  have  nourished  and  brought 
up  children,  and  they  have  rebelled  against  me." 

Is.  1.  2. 

She  paused  uiul  looked  up  again. 

'There  were  some  people  who  forgot,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith. 


CROSS   CORNERS. 


53 


'  Forgot  whose  children  they  were,'  said  Eunice, 
'  when  they  rebelled.  Yes,  I  s'pose  they  did.  But 
do  you  mean,  mother' — and  again  she  came  to  a 
lull  stop.  Mrs.  Keith  leaned  over  Eunice  for  an 
instant,  and  parted  the  Bible  leaves  at  another 
place. 

'  Kead  there,'  she  said, — and  Eunice  read: 

"  Do  ye  thus  requite  the  Lord,  0  foolish  people, 
and  unwise?  is  not  he  thy  Father  that  hath 
bought  thee  ?  hath  he  not  made  thee  and  estab- 
lished thee?" 

'  "  Made  and  established," — that's  like  "  nourish- 
ed and  brought  up," '  said  Eunice,  comparing  the 
two  passages. 

'  Yet  they  forgot,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  And  when 
people  forget  the  love  and  power  and  wisdom  of 
the  Lord,  then  they  easily  become  rebels,  and  des- 
pise his  authority  and  refuse  his  care.' 

'Yes,  I  daresay  they  do,'  said  Eunice.  'But  you 
don't  think  /  am  ever  a  rebel,  mother  ?" 

'  What  does  the  Bible  think  ?' 

'About  me?' 

'About  you.' 

Eunice  pondered,  looking  down  at  her  verse. 

'  Doesn't  this  mean  big  grown  up  people  ? '  she 
said. 


54  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  It  means  the  Jews  first,  and  then  anybody  who 
might  be  a  loving  child  of  God,  and  is  instead  a 
rebel.' 

'  Well  I  guess  I  don't  know  what  a  Bible  rebel  is, 
yet,'  said  Eunice  contentedly.  '  So  I'll  try  auother 
verse.' 

'*  A  son  honoureth  his  father,  and  a  servant  his 
master:  if  then  I  be  a  father,  where  is  mine  honour? 
and  if  I  be  a  master,  where  is  my  fear  ?  saith  the 
Lord  of  hosts."         Mai.  1.  6. 

'  0  but  I  do  honour  the  Lord  ! '  said  Eunice  look- 
ing up :  Mrs.  Keith  was  silent. 

'  I  do,  mother,  really,'  the  child  repeated. 

'  If  Davy  had  found  a  little  girl  crying  her  eyes 
out  because  she  had  only  bread  and  milk  for 
supper,  I  wonder  what  he  would  have  said  to 
her? ' 

'  He'd  have  shamed  me,  well,'  said  Eunice. 
'  But  I  never  do  cry  over  what  you  give  me, 
mother.' 

'  Yet  a  little  girl  cried  because  God  had  given 
her  a  quarter  to  buy  the  bread  with.  "  If  I  then 
be  a  Father,  where  is  mine  honour"?' 

'  I  guess  that  was  real  bad  of  me,'  said  Eunice 
colouring.  'But  the  people  were  so  ugly,  that 
I  never  thought  God  had  sent  it.' 


C/iOSS  CORM'ERS.  55 

'  You  forgot  whose  child  you  were.'  Again 
Eunice  sat  thinking. 

*  Thafs  what  Davy  meant ! '  she  said.  '  But  it 
seems  so  diiferent,  somehow.  Diflferent  from  ray 
being  your  child,  you  know.' 

'  In  what  way  is  it  different  ? ' 

'  Why  mother,'  said  Eunice,  '  in  every  way,  I 
think ! ' 

'  Tell  me  some  of  the  ways,  and  let  us  see  how 
the  Bible  will  answer.' 

'  I  guess  the  Bible  don't  say  anything  about  what 
/  mean,'  said  Eunice,  shaking  her  head.  '  There's 
one  thing — this  minute.  Just  as  soon  as  I  want 
to  know  anything,  you're  all  ready  to  tell.' 

'  And  you  think  the  Lord  is  not  ? ' 

'  No,'  said  Eunice.  '  If  I  was  in  ever  so  much 
of  a  puzzle,  I  don't  believe  he'd  explain.' 

'  Turn  to  the  epistle  of  James,  the  first  chapter 
and  fifth  verse,'  said  Mrs  Keith.  '  What  does  the 
Lord  himself  say  about  that?' 

Eunice  turned  and  read. 

' "  If  any  of  you  lack  wisdom,  let  him  ask  of 
God."' 

Eunice  studied  the  words  for  some  time  in  si- 
lence; coming  at  Ipst  to  a  conclusion  on  at  least 
one  point. 


56  C^OSS  CORNERS. 

'  I  s'pose  you  get  a  great  deal  that  way,  mother,' 
she  said.  '  But  I  didn't  mean  wisdom  exactly,  you 
know,  but  puzdes.  Now  when  I  ask  you,  you  al- 
ways tell.' 

'  Turn  back  to  the  thirty-second  Psalm,  and  see 
what  you  find  in  the  eighth  verse.  Remember, 
they  are  tiie  Lord's  own  words.'     So  Eunice  read : 

"  I  will  instruct  thee  and  teach  thee  in  the  way 
which  thou  shalt  go:  I  will  guide  thee  with  mine 
eye."        Ps.  32.  8. 

'  Yes,  you  do  that,  when  you  don't  want  to  speak 
out  loud,'  said  Eunice.     '  But  then — ' 

'  Then  what—  ? ' 

'  Why  if  I'm  not  looking  at  you  I  don't  see  it.' — 

'  True,'  said  Mrs.  Keith :  '  and  so  one  whose  eyes 
are  not  "  ever  unto  the  Lord,"  misses  many  a 
sign  of  the  Lord's  will,  and  many  a  token  of  his 
love.' 

'  But  then  if  I'm  not  looking  at  you,  you  general- 
ly speak,'  said  Emiice.  Again  the  mother  leaned 
over,  and  pointed  to  another  passage  in  the  old 
Bible. 

"Thine  ears  shall  hear  a  word  behind  thee,  saying. 
This  is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it,  when  ye  turn  to  the 
right  hand,  and  when  ye  turn  to  the  left." 

Is.  30.  21. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  57 

'  But  I  never  did,  mother  ! '  said  Eunice,  looking 
up  with  very  wide  open  eyes. 

'  Can  you  guess  why  ?  ' 

'  Maybe  the  Lord  never  spoke  to  me,'  said  Eu- 
nice. 

'  He  speaks  to  everybody.  But  do  you  remem- 
ber, love,  one  day  when  you  sat  in  the  door,  and 
Jane  Campbell  called  you  to  come  with  her,  and  I 
called  to  you  not  to  go  ?  ' 

'Yes,  I  remember,'  said  Eunice.  'It  was  very 
queer !  I  heard  her  and  I  didn't  hear  you.  So  I 
went.' 

'  So  you  went.  But  not  because  I  had  not 
spoken.' 

'  I  can't  tell  ivliy  I  didn't  hear  you,'  said  Eunice, 
looking  perplexed.  '  I  did  want  to  go  very  much, — 
but  then  I  never  heard  you  say  a  thing.' 

'  I  think  I  know  why,'  said  the  mother.  '  You 
were  so  eager  to  go,  that  you  either  never  tried  to 
think  what  I  would  say,  or  else  you  hurried  off  lest 
you  might  hear.     Which   do  you  think  it  was  ? ' 

Eunice  flushed  up.  '  Mother,'  she  said,  '  I  do  be- 
lieve it  was  both !  — Just  a  little,  you  know.  But  I 
never  knew  it  before.' 

'Sometimes,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  'the  Lord  speaks 
to  us  in  such  a  tone  that  we  cannot  choose  but 


58  CROSS  CORNERS. 

hear;  and  often  it  is  only  in  a  soft  low  whisper.  If 
we  are  listening  for  his  word,  eager  to  do  his  will 
and  his  only,  then  we  shall  hear  it;  but  if  we  are 
set  upon  our  own  way,  caring  nothing  for  the 
Lord's  good  pleasure,  then  we  easily  miss  his  call, 
and  go  blundering  on  in  our  own  foolishness.  "The 
meek  -vvall  he  teach  his  way;"  but  those  who  "  will 
none  of  his  counsel,"  shall  be  "filled  with  their 
own  devices."  ' 

'Well,  I  got  enough  of  mine  that  day,'  said 
Eunice.  '  Tore  my  frock,  and  scratched  my  face, 
and  vexed  you.  But  mother — '  and  she  looked  up 
wistfully, — 'don't  you  ever  get  puzzled,  then  ?' 

'  I  need  quite  often  to  pray  David's  prayer  : 
"Make  thy  way  plain  before  my  face,'" — Mrs.  Keith 
answered.  And  then  she  bent  down  to  kiss  the 
child's  brow  and  lips,  and  told  her  it  was  time  she 
should  stop  talking  and  go  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Now  it  fell  out  next  day  that  David  was  busy  from 
morning  to  night  in  the  shoemaker's  garden ;  and 
thus  towards  evening,  when  Eunice  carried  home 
her  mother's  work  and  received  another  bundle  of 
shoes  to  bind,  she  found  her  friend  just  finishing 
his  task  and  almost  ready  to  set  out  for  home.  So 
she  waited  for  him,  and  they  walked  on  together. 
Truly  David's  home  was  a  poor  one :  a  dark  garret 
loft,  and  very  uncomfortable  meals,  in  the  house  of 
the  village  baker ;  for  which  he  paid  by  wood-chop- 
ping, water-fetching,  and  odds  and  ends  of  all  sorts 
of  work.  But  David  never  complained.  He  wore 
the  brightest,  cleanest,  quietest  face  in  all  the 
village. 

'  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Davy! '  Eunice  began. 
'  I  want  to  talk  to  you  ever  so  much.' 

'  Talk  away  then,'  said  David  with  a  smile  at  his 

little  companion.     'More  puzzles,  Eunice  Keith?' 

'  0   yes,    always   more   puzzles,    I    think,'    said 

/'59) 


60  CROSS   CORNERS. 

Eunice.  '  You  see,  Dav;y',  mother  talked  to  me  ever 
so  much  last  night,  and  I  read  to  her  (in  the  Bible, 
you  know)  and  after  all  1  didn't  seem  to  under- 
stand," 

'  Did  you  tell  her  so? '  inquired  David. 

'No,'  said  Eunice,  'I  was  ashamed.  After  she'd 
taken  so  much  trouble,  and  when  it  was  all  so  plain 
to  her.  And  then  I  thought  I  did  understand  a 
little,  just  while  she  was  talking.  But  I  don't 
now.' 

'About   God   being   our   Father?'   said   David. 

Eunice  nodded. 

'  I  don't  know  as  you  need  have  felt  so,'  said 
David  thoughtfully, — '  but  then  if  you  had  told 
her — and  she  had  talked  on  all  night  you  mightn't 
have  been  a  bit  better  off.' 

'  ^lightn't  I  ?  '  said  Eunice,  opening  her  eyes. 

'  No,'  said  David:  "  With  the  heart  man  believ- 
eth,"  but  with  the  head  he  just  gets  into  puzzles. 
That's  a  hard  lesson  to  learn,  small  child;  and  I'm 
not  sure  that  anyone  can  teach  it  but  the  Lord  him- 
self. "When  you  go  to  school  to  him,  then  you'll 
know.' 

'  Why  David ! '  said  Eunice.  '  What  funny 
things  you  do  say  ! ' 

'True  ones,'  said  David. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  61 

'  But  why  is  it  hard  ? '  said  Eunice.  '  It  sounds 
so  easy.' 

'  Well,'  said  David,  '  it's  hard  chiefly  because  we 
don't  want  to  learn  it.' 

'  O  you  are  very  much  mistaken  there,'  said  Eu- 
nice,    '  Of  course  I  wanted  to  learn  it !' 

'  Not  by  heart,'  said  David.  '  And  heads  can't 
manage  such  questions,  as  I  said.' 

'  By  heart,'  Eunice  repeated  slowly. 

'  Yes,'  said  David.  '  The  first  thing  to  do  if  we 
want  to  understand  that  God  is  our  Father,  is  to 
act  like  his  children.  And  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do,  that's  heart  work,  Eunice  Keith.' 

Eunice  looked  very  sober  at  this,  pondering  the 
matter  as  she  walked  along. 

'  See  here,'  said  David,  taking  out  his  little  Bible, 
'  sit  down  a  minute  on  the  stile  and  I'll  shew  you 
something.  Look  what  the  Lord  said  by  his  prophet 
long  ago.' 

"I  have  nourished  and  brought  up  children,  and 
they  have  rebelled  against  me." 

'  I  know,  mother  made  me  read  that,'  said 
Eunice. 

*  Well,  do  you  suppose  people  acting  so  feel  as  if 
God  was  their  Father  ?  They  must  try  to  forget 
it  just  as  hard  as  they  can.' 


(\2  C/^OSS  CORNERS. 

'  Yes,'  said  Eunice  sadly,  '  I  see  that.  But  Davy, 
do  you  mean  that  I  am  ever  like  such  people  ? ' 

'  Ah,  that  is  for  you  to  judge,'  answered  her 
friend.  'But  I'll  shew  you  another  text,  small 
child,  that  has  often  given  me  information, — it's 
over  here  in  Ephesians.' 

*  "  Be  ye  therefore  followers  of  God,  as  dear  chil- 
dren."— Ephes.  5.  1. 

'  Ifs  pretty  easy  to  tell,  I  think,  if  we  look  sharp,' 
David  concluded. 

'  You  mean — '  said  Eunice  slowly,  '  that  if  I  felt 
just  like  the  Lord's  child,  and  didn't  forget  it,  I 
wouldn't  ever  displease  him  ?  ' 

'  Precisely,'  said  David. 

'  But  then,'  said  Eunice,  '  I  do  always  feel  so 
about  mother,  but  I  don't  always  like  to  do  what 
she  tells  me,  Davy.' 

'  No,  I  suppose  not,'  David  answered.  '  But 
those  are  not  the  times  when  your  whole  heart's 
full  of  joy  because  you  arc  her  child,  Eunice  Keith.' 

'I  see,'  said  Eunice  again.  'But  it's  very  disa- 
greeable, Davj^' 

'  Disagreeable  ! ' — echoed  David. 

'Yes,'  said  Eunice.  '  Because  that  makes  it  all 
rm  and  not  liim,  Davy:  all  just  my  fault.' 

'  Ah,'  said  David,  '  there  is  but  one  cure  for  that: 


CROSS  CORNERS.  03 

it  must  be  all  Him,  and  not  me, — all  just  his  grace. 
Look  here,  small  child,  see  what  the  Bible  says : 

* "  Ye  have  received  the  Spirit  of  adoption, 
whereby  we  cry,  Abba,  Father." — Ko.  8.  15. 

' "  God  hath  sent  forth  the  Spirit  of  his  Son  into 
your  hearts,  crying,  Abba,  Father.  Wherefore 
thou  art  no  more  a  servant,  but  a  son." — Gal.  4.  6,  7. 

'  How  do  you  expect  to  feel  like  the  Lord's  child, 
without  his  help  ?' 

'Adoption?'  Eunice  repeated. 

'  Yes,'  said  David.  '  The  sort  of  feeling  a  poor 
chap  like  me  would  have,  if  some  great  man  took 
him  for  his  son.  Not  for  a  day  or  two,  you  know, 
but  for  always :  giving  me  everything  a  real  father 
would,  and  making  me  everything  his  real  child 
should  be,  and  loving  me  to  my  heart's  content.' 

'  Well  Davy,'  said  Eunice,  (it  was  not  too  easy 
for  her  to  understand.  Eunice  did  not  feel  as  if 
she  would  like  to  be  adopted  by  anybody)  '  what 
did  you  really  mean  about  lessons?' 

'  Only  that  if  you  set  out  to  be  the  Lord's  child 
in  good  earnest,  you'll  have  'em,'  said  David.  '  He 
may  set  you  one  any  day.  But  be  sure  you  learn 
it  when  he  does.' 

'  Lessons — lessons — '  Eunice  repeated.  '  The 
Lord  set  me  lessons  ?     It  soimds  so  funny.' 


64  C/?OSS  CORNERS. 

'  It's  not  always  funny  to  learn  'em,'  said  David. 
'  But  it's  good  and  sweet  and  wholesome.  "  Who 
teacheth  like  him  ?  "  And  you  must  not  shirk  them, 
Eunice  Keith.' 

'Will  they  be  very  hard?'  asked  Eunice. 

'  Not  the  first  ones,  most  likely,'  said  David. 
'  But  if  you  miss  them  a  time  or  two,  it'll  be  a 
big  thing  to  learn  the  next.  Like  having  to  read 
oft'  a  chapter  before  you  know  your  letters.  No — 
never  harder  than  you  can  learn,'  the  boy  added, 
half  to  himself,  and  with  a  wistful,  patient,  loving 
look  upward. 

'  I  wonder  if  I've  missed  any  yet  ? '  said  Eunice 
thoughtfully.  '  I  s'pose  mother  learns  hers,  every 
one.     That's  the  reason  she  knows  so  much.' 

'  Ah  ! '  said  David, — '  I  believe  you  !  People 
grow  wise  who  learn  all  the  Lord  will  teach  them. 
But  I  think  you  had  one  lesson  yesterday,  small 
child, — only  you  njissed  it.  At  least  I  should  have 
thought  /  had." 

'  A  lesson  ?'  said  Eunice :  '  yesterday  ?  ' 

'  /  should  have  thought  so,'  David  repeated. 
'You  ask  Mrs.  Keith,  and  see  what  she  says. 
Good-night.' 


CHAPTER  yil. 

All  the  next  week  David  wa9  away  from  the  vil- 
lage, busy  with  a  job  of  ploughing  on  a  farm  two 
miles  off;  and  so  Eunice  never  saw  him  once,  as 
she  trotted  back  and  forth  with  her  mother's  bun- 
dles of  work.  The  shoemaker's  garden  told  indeed, 
by  its  nice  order,  that  David  had  been  there,  but 
otherwise  Eunice  thought  it  looked  very  empty. 
Moreover  the  weather  turned  cool,  and  the  straw- 
berries quite  declined  to  ripen ;  and  the  INlay  roses 
hung  on,  and  the  June  roses  came  slowly.  The 
carriage  load  of  fairies  had  not  been  seen  again  in 
the  village,  (by  Eunice  at  least)  and  she  might 
have  forgotten  all  about  them,  if  they  had  not  as 
she  said — '  got  mixed  up  \vith  so  many  thin<^s.' 
Quarter  dollars  were  truly  almost  as  scarce  as 
strawberries,  in  these  days;  but  Eunice  could  not 
hear  either  of  them  even  mentioned,  without  an 
uneasy  flush  rising  in  her  cheeks. 

'  Not  give  mother  one  ! '  she  spoke  out  to  herself 
5  (65) 


56  CROSS   COKNEKS. 

one  evening  as  she  washed  up  the  plates.    '  I  guess 
that's  vcr.j  likely,  indeed.' 

'  What  are  you  talking  of,  Eunice?'  The  little 
girl  started,  flushing  higher  yet. 

'1  didn't  know  I  spoke  out,'  she  said.  '  O — I  was 
just  thinking,  mother. 

'About  what?' 

'  Strawberries — and  things,'  said  Eunice. 

'  Are  the  berries  ripe  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  know,  Tua'am,'  said  Eunice.  '  It's  been 
real  hot  today.' 

'  Suppose  you  look  in  the  pine  meadow  tomor- 
row.    They  are  apt  to  be  early  there.' 

'  You'd  like  some,  wouldn't  you,  mother  ?  '  cried 
Eunice.  '  O  yes,  indeed  I'll  look.  And  even  a 
saucerful  would  refresh  you, '  she  added  —  for 
Eunice  often  picked  up  a  long  word.  Something 
gathered  over  Mrs.  Keith's  sight  behind  which  the 
shoes  and  the  binding  faded  away. 

'  Lov(%'  she  said  presently,  '  what  was  it  those 
ladies  said  about  the  strawberries  ? ' 

'  The  pink  and  green  ladies  ?  They  wanted 
'em, — that  was  all,'  said  Eunice  with  a  little  flirt 
of  her  shoulder.  '  They  wanted  'em  every  one  — 
selfish  things ! ' 

'  Hush,  Imsh  !    What  ^vill  they  pay  for  them  ?' 


CROSS   CORNERS.  67 

'  0,  they  said  —  a  dollar — a  quart,'  said  Eunice, 
shaking  out  her  tea  towel,  and  the  words  be- 
tween the  shakes.  '  Said  they  wanted  'em  for 
theu"  health, — or  at  least  one  of  'em  did.  The 
fattest,' 

Mrs.  Keith  could  not  help  smiling. 

'  A  dollar  a  quart  would  be  a  fancy  price,'  she 
said  :  '  I  should  not  think  it  right  to  take  that. 
But  1  suppose  fifty  cents  a  quart  would  not  be  un- 
reasonable— as  it  is  early.' 

'But  would  you  sell  our  strawberries!'  said 
Eunice,  facing  round  upon  her  mother  with  re- 
proachful eyes.  'When  they  do  you  so  much 
good,  mother?  And  they're  the  only  nice  thing 
we  ever  have  ! — or  the  nicest, — '  said  Eunice  cor- 
recting herself.  Mrs.  Keith  sat  silent,  fighting  the 
pain  at  her  heart.  Should  she  tell  Eunice  how 
slack  the  shoe- binding  trade  was  just  novv'  ?  with  so 
many  people  going  barefoot  ?  Stitch,  stitch,  the 
needle  went  in  and  out. — Eunice  stood  softly  flirt- 
ing her  towel,  watching  her  mother  with  eyes  that 
saw  vaguely  something  which  kept  her  too,  silent. 
Then  a  httle  brown  bird  hopped  down  on  the  win- 
dow sill  and   gave  a  message. 

"  Twit-twit-te-dee ! " 

''Fear   not:  ye   are  of  more   value   than   many 


68  C/iOSS   CORNERS. 

sparrows."  Mrs.  Keith  looked  up  with  a  tender 
smile  upon  her  lips. 

'Dear,'  she  said,  'the  best  thing  we  can  ever 
have  is  the  Lord's  good  pleasure.  '  Now  I  want  an 
extra  dollar  very  much,  Eunice, — and  it  seems  to  be 
his  pleasure  that  we  should  get  it  so.  At  least  I 
see  no  other  way.' 

Eunice  looked  at  her  mother,  turned  away  and 
slowly  hung  up  her  towel,  looked  again, — then 
darted  out  of  the  room  to  her  particular  retiring 
place  in  summer  weather,  a  certain  old  bench  un- 
der an  old  rugged  apple  tree  behind  the  house. 
She  threw  herself  full  length  upon  the  bench. 

'■  O  dear  !  0  dear  ! '  she  sobbed.  '  Here's  moth- 
er wants  a  dollar,  and  I  can't  get  it  for  her  ! ' 

'  Yes  you  can  ' — said  her  conscience. 

'  But  I  don't  want  to — that  way,'  said  Eunice. 
'  I  like  strawberries.' 

'  Better  than  your  mother  ? ' 

'  I  want  her  to  have  'em  too,'  said  Eunice,  '  and 
they're  good  for  her,  besides.  And  she  never  has 
anything  good  except  in  strawberry  time,  nor  I 
neither.     0  dear,  dear,  dear  ! ' 

A  little  girl  in  such  distress  on  a  beautiful  sum- 
mer day,  was  a  great  puzzle  to  the  two  robins  that 
were  building  in  the  old  apple  tree  over  her  head. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  69 

Mr.  Eobin  put  his  thumbs  in  his  red  vest  pockets, 
and  hopped  to  and  fro,  remarking  that  there  must 
certainly  be  a  black  snake  somewhere  about :  but 
Mrs.  Robin  after  a  glance  or  so,  shook  her  little 
Avise  head  and  went  on  with  her  building.  Perhaps 
she  knew  more  of  feminine  nature  than  he  did, — 
but  still,  to  make  such  a  fuss  over  nothing  !  If 
that  strange  creature  down  on  the  bench,  now,  had 
to  mix  mortar  till  it  was  just  soft  enough  to  spread 
witli  her  bill  and  just  stiff  enough  to  stick, — then 
indeed  !  And  still  Eunice  lay  on  the  bench,  some- 
times silent,  sometimes  with  a  sudden  sob,  and  now 
and  then  giving  herself  an  uneasy  fling. 

The  apple  tree  dropped  a  leaf  or  two  that  the 
wind  had  loosened,  right  down  upon  her  head ;  the 
grasshoppers  sang  round  her;  the  sun  shone  over 
her  from  head  to  foot,  peeping  through  the  boughs 
of  the  apple  tree ;  but  neither  one  could  win  a 
glance  or  a  thought.  The  dollar  her  mother  could 
not  get,  seemed  somehow  to  have  established  itself 
on  Eunice's  heart,  feeling  heavy  as  lead;  the  straw- 
berries not  yet  picked  got  in  her  throat  and  choked 
her :  and  in  her  mind  two  sets  of  words  had  a  hot 
contest.     The  mocking  speech  of  the  young  lady: 

'A  dollar  a  quart,  child  !— that'll  content  her,  I 
fancy.'     And  her  mother's  gentle: 


70  CKOSS  CORNERS. 

'  I  want  another  dollar  very  much.' 

*  Eunice  Keith,  don't  forget  whose  child  you  are/ 
Davy  had  said. 

Poor  Eunice  !  in  her  present  rebellion  against  all 
parental  demands,  whether  human  or  divine,  she 
did  not  feel  like  anybody's  child;  but  rather  like 
some  stray  orphan,  alone  in  the  world  and  gen- 
erally ill-used. 

'Yes,  I'd  like  to  be  one  of  the  other  dishes,'  she 
said;  'and  I  don't  see  why  it's  always  somebody 
else,  and  not  mother  and  me,  that  gets  trimmed  up. 
I  don't  mean  so  much  with  ribbands  and  things  ' — 
and  here  Eunice  paused,  remembering  the  charm- 
ing flutter  of  the  green  and  pink  fairies.  '  I  don't 
so  much  mean  that,'  she  began  again  with  a  little 
sigh, — '  though  they're  real  nice  too;  but  I'd  like  to 
have  all  the  strawberries  I  want,  and  not  to  take 
anybody's  money;  and  that  mother  needn't  work 
so  hard.' 

This  last  thouglit  brought  a  sudden  lleling  of  at 
least  one  part  of  her  child  life.  Eunice  sat  up  on 
the  old  bench,  and  cli-ared  her  hair  out  oilier  eyes, 
and  looked  towards  the  house.  Her  mother's  win- 
dow was  on  the  other  side;  but  Ennice  needed  no 
sight  to  tell  her  how  swnftly  the  lingers  moved,  how 
steadily  the  fair  pale  face  bent  over  the  ding}'  work. 


CHOSS  CORNERS.  71 

'  She  has  to  take  money  for  it,  too,'  thought  the 
little  girl ;  '  and  it's  a  good  deal  worse  than  picking 
strawberries.  0  the  picking  is  just  delightful  !  But 
she  never  goes.     She  hasn't  time. 

'  And  she  don't  make  as  much  fuss  in — ever ! ' 
said  Eunice  to  herself,  'as  I've  made  this  morn- 
ing, just  because  I  cap't  pick  'em  and  eat  'em 
too.' 

One  or  two  heavy  sighs  followed;  and  then  Eu- 
nice got  up  and  walked  into  the  house. 

'  Mother  I'm  going,' she  said.  'I  guess  I'll  set 
right  off,' — and  she  bustled  about,  smoothing  her 
tumbled  hair,  washing  her  hands,  and  putting  on 
her  thick  out-door  shoes.  '  It  would  be  dreadfully 
mean  of  me  to  be  your  child,  and  not  get  you  a 
dollar  when  I  could.' 

Mrs.  Keith  put  her  arm  round  her  little  daugh- 
ter and  drew  her  down  for  a  farewell  kiss. 

'  And  how  about  being  the  Lord's  child,  Eunice  ? ' 
she  said. 

'  0  —  that  ?  I  don't  know,'  said  Eunice.  '  I 
haven't  thought  much  about  that.  I  s'pose  I  must 
be,  you  know ;  but  there's  nothing  I  can  do  for  /am, 
mother.' 

'  Well,  do  not  forget  whose  child  you  are,'  said 
Mrs.    Keith    with   another  kiss;    'and  then  when 


72  CROSS  CORNERS. 

there  ts,  you  will  find  it  out.  How  will  vou  meas- 
ure your  berries,  Eunice  ? ' 

'  O  to  be  sure — I  forgot  they  must  be  measured. 
I  guess  I'd  better  bring  'em  home  and  let  you  do 
it' 

'  But  I  am  very  busy,  love.  And  besides,  berries 
should  be  handled  just  as  little  as  possible.' 

'  I  can  pick  'em  nicely,'  said  Eunice,  '  ever  since 
you  told  me  how.  Why,  have  I  got  to  take  'em 
right  there,  mother?' 

'  That  is  the  way,  while  tliey  are  quite  fresh. 
And  the  Cross  Corners  cottage  is  not  far  away. 

'No — '  said  Eunice  hesitating.  '  Then  suppose  I 
just  let  the  people  measure  'em  ?  ' 

'That  will  do,' said  Mrs.  Keith.  'But  see  the 
ladies  themselves:  do  not  give  your  basket  to  any- 
one else.' 

'Maybe  they'll  be  out?'  said  Eunice. 

'  Then  bring  the  berries  home.' 

With  eager  delight  now,  Eunice  gave  her  mother 
a  parting  hug,  tied  on  her  white  sunbonnet,  and 
set  out.  A  new  hope  had  sprung  ^\\^  in  her  heart. 
Of  course  the  ladies  v.oiild  bo  out ! — driving  away 
off  about  the  country.  >.\)\v  if  she  could  only  get 
her  berries  j)icked  and  at  the  cottage  before  the 
gay  carriageful  came  l>ack  ! 


C/?OSS  CORNERS.  73 

Eunice  trudged  along  the  wandering  village 
road  with  a  will,  swinging  her  neat  basket,  sing- 
ing gayly  to  herself,  or  casting  loving  eyes  at  the 
flowers  by  the  Avaj^side.  Today  she  must  not  stop 
to  pick  them,  but  oh,  how  pretty  they  were  !  Gay 
pimpernel  and  blue  forgetmenots  in  the  fresh 
grass  near  the  springs;  and  in  other  places  more 
decidedly  marshy,  white  arrowhead,  with  com- 
panions white,  purple,  and  yellow,  that  Eunice  did 
not  know  by  name.  Meek-eyed  sheep  wandered 
on  the  hillside,  a  soft  ba-a  now  and  then  sounding 
through  the  still  air;  and  hens  cackled  in  distant 
farmyards,  and  cows  stood  knee-deep  in  the  sweet 
clover.  Eunice  sighed  to  herself  for  very  pleasure 
now.  0  how  lovely  it  was  ! — and  '  0  if  mother  could 
only  come  too  ! '  she  thought. 

'  If  I  could  get  her  a  great  many  dollars,  maybe 
she  could,'  Eunice  went  on  to  herself.  'There  are 
raspberries  next,  and  blackberries,  and  wild  plums, 
and  chestnuts,  and  wild  grapes.  That  would  be 
just  splendid ! — so  many  dollars  that  she  needn't 
work  any  more.  And  when  the  ladies  were  out, 
wed  eat  'em, — and  when  they  were  home,  they 
could.  They're  going  to  be  out  today,'  said  Eu- 
nice, as  she  reached  the  strawberry  meadow  and 
crept  through  the  bars.    Then  she  fell  to  work. 


74  CROSS  CORNERS. 

It  was  very  early  in  the  season;  the  strawberry 
vines  were  all  about  indeed,  but  as  yet  loaded  ouly 
with  green  berries.  Here  and  there  however  a  red 
cheek  shewed  itself,  and  Eunice  was  a  good  picker, 
and  had  quick  eyes.  One  by  one  the  fragrant 
things  fell  lightly  into  her  basket,  inch  by  inch  the 
sweet  store  crept  upward;  until  finally  there  was 
not  an  inch  of  room  left,  nor  even  space  for  "just 
this  one  beauty." 

'  Because,'  reasoned  Eunice  "wdsely,  '  if  they  roll 
off  in  the  dust,  we  shouldn't  liave  'em  today  nor  to- 
morrow neither.' 

She  took  off  her  bonnet  and  fanned  lierself  for  a 
few  minutes;  tied  it  on  again,  carefully  pulling  out 
the  white  bows ;  once  more  crept  under  the  bars ; 
then  took  up  her  basket,  and  with  a  light  heart  set 
forth  towards  the  Cross  Corners  cottage. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

The  little  village  of  Stony  Brook  was  much  like  all 
other  such  small  places.  At  the  church  end  (only 
further  on  towards  the  woods)  lived  Eunice's  moth- 
er; and  then  when  you  had  passed  the  church, 
coming  this  way,  the  minister's  house  came  first, 
and  then  the  schoolhouse.  Then  a  little  bit  of 
road,  then  the  blacksmith's  shop,  and  the  tinman's, 
and  the  village  store.  Small  village  houses  stood 
about,  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  and  fronting 
in  all  directions.  One  was  backed  up  this  way 
and  another  that,  as  the  builder's  fancy  had  set 
them.  Flowers  were  scattered  about  too,  in  the 
same  careless  fashion.  Over  one  door  climbed  a 
rose,  just  now  all  bloom  ;  over  another  clambered  a 
vine  of '  matrimony,'  or  a  green  mass  of  morning 
glories,  or  a  gourd;  but  marigolds,  cockscombs, 
balm  and  feverfew  were  everywhere.  Thriving 
somehow,  with  not  too  much  care ;  or  at  least  '  get- 
ting along — '  as  the  villagers  would  have  said  of 

<'75) 


76  CA'OSS  COHNEHS. 

themselves.  Stony  brook  crossed  the  village 
twice,  running  noisily  from  side  to  side;  and  when 
you  had  passed  the  second  bridge,  you  were  at  the 
end  of  the  village  street.  Now  it  changed  to  the 
open  road,  with  sweet  wild  hedges  on  either  side. 
0  how  pretty  they  Avere  1  iN  o  feverfew  and  mar- 
igolds here;  but  wild  spirea,  and  elecampane,  and 
sweet  briar,  and  ferns;  all  ])0UTid  tightly  together 
with  clematis  and  bind-weed.  The  brook  ran 
alongside  for  a  little  way,  with  its  border  of  but- 
tercups and  rushes;  and  there  were  woods  on  either 
hand;  but  just  as  you  began  to  wish  the  road  could 
go  on  so  for  ever,  the  brook  darted  away  at  right 
angles,  the  woods  fell  back,  tlie  one  road  suddenly 
changed  into  four  ;  and  there  stood  the  Cross 
Corners  cottage. 

Now  this  cottage  was  considered  quite  an  am- 
bitious sort  of  place,  and  belonged  to  the  widow  of 
a  former  postmaster  of  Stony  Brook,  who  generally 
filled  it  Avith  city  boarders  all  summer  and  through 
the  early  fall.  So  the  white  Avindow  curtains  were 
the  finest  in  the  village,  and  the  doormat  Avas  ex- 
tra large ;  and  there  Avas  a  tiny  carriage  room  parti- 
tioned off  from  the  Avoodhouse.  And  Mrs.  Lockit 
had  even  a  real  live  peacock  ! 

Just  noAv  the  house  looked  asleep.     The  Avindow 


CROSS  CORNERS.  77 

curtains  waved  lazily  in  and  out,  the  peacock  stood 
on  one  foot  in  the  sun ;  and  Towzer  the  house-dog 
covered  the  big  mat  with  his  shaggy  person.  Eu- 
nice listened:  no,  she  heard  no  voices,  and  better 
still,  no  stamping  and  pawing  in  the  stable.  More- 
over she  could  see  as  she  came  near  that  the  car- 
riage room  door  stood  open,  and  that  the  carriage 
was  away.  Eunice  gave  a  little  skip  all  to  herself 
in  the  dusty  road. 

'  I  said  they'd  be  out !  '  she  cried  under  her 
breath  ;  '  and  so  they  are.  And  it's  no  use  for  me 
to  wake  up  Mrs.  Lockit,  because  mother  said  I 
must  give  the  berries  to  the  ladies  themselves.' 

If  you  ever  saw  a  little  girl  turn  quick  and  hur- 
ry away,  you  would  have  seen  one  then.  She  was 
so  afraid  the  pink  and  green  fairies  might  drop 
down  suddenly  from  somewhere  !  Hurry,  hurry 
along  the  road,  with  every  few  steps  a  skip  of  pleas- 
ure. 

'  I'm  so  glad  I  came  ! '  she  thought.  '  Of  course 
it  don't  do  to  forget  whose  child  I  am !  Now  moth- 
er '11  have  such  a  supper ! ' 

So  she  danced  along,  carefully  guarding  the  bas- 
ket from  too  sudden  a  jump,  until  she  was  almost 
at  the  bridge  at  the  entrance  of  the  village;  and 
then  suddonlv  in  front  of  her,  as  it  seemed  on  the 


78  CA'OSS  CORNERS. 

very  bridge  itself,  up  rose  a  noisy  clatter.  Eunice 
started  and  stopped  short,  looking  ahead,  but  at  first 
could  see  nothing  but  just  such  a  cloud  of  dust  as 
appeared  to  the  sister  of  Bluebeard's  wife.  Then 
as  the  child  still  stood  gazing,  the  cloud  parted 
right  and  left,  and  from  the  midst  of  it  rolled  out 
and  rolled  up  the  carriageful  of  fairies.  But  they 
were  all  in  white  this  time. 

For  a  minute  Eunice  was  so  choked  and  blinded 
with  the  dust  that  she  could  not  give  a  second  look; 
and  apparently  the  brown  cloud  had  partially  hid- 
den her;  but  now  when  the  wheels  had  whirled  a 
few  times  round  and  away  from  her,  all  at  once  the 
horses  stopped,  and  she  heard  the  very  same  call 
from  the  coachman  that  she  remembered  so  well. 

'  Here,  child  ! — come  here.  Run  ! ' 
Very  slowly  and  unwillingly  Eunice  turned 
and  went  towards  the  carriage,  which  now  was 
standing  still;  while  the  remnant  of  the  cloud  of 
dust  sailed  softly  away  before  the  breeze.  Every- 
body was  waiting  for  her,  and  watching  her  too. 
The  coachman  sat  half  round  upon  his  box,  the 
footman  had  jumped  down,  and  from  either  side  of 
the  carriage  gay  heads  leaned  out.  Only  the 
black  horses  stood  pawing  and  stamping  in  dis- 
pleasure at  having  to  stand  still. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  79 

'  Why  yes — it  is  the  same  child,'  cried  a  voice. 
'  I  remember  that  very  patch  in  her  frock,  because 
the  browns  aint  exactly  the  same  shade,  you  know,' 

'  Hurry  up,  young  one  ! '  called  the  coachman. 

'  I  do  believe  she's  got  my  strawberries  ! '  cried 
another  voice.  '  Little  girl,  little  girl ! — what's  in 
your  basket  ? ' 

'  Strawberries,  ma'am.'  said  Eunice,  who  was  now 
near  enough  to  speak.  But  how  her  heart  sank 
with  the  word. 

'  O  you  splendid  child ! '  cried  the  young  lady 
clapping  her  hands.  '  ]\Iake  haste  !  What  were  you 
going  the  other  way  for  ?  ' 

'  Please,  you  were  all  out,'  said  Eunice,  '  and  so 
I  was  taking  them  home  to  mother.' 

'  Luckily  we  came  back  this  way;'  said  the  lady. 
'  Well  hand  'em  up  here,  child.' 

But  Eunice  held  fast  to  her  basket. 

'  If  you  please,'  she  said,  '  you  said  mother  should 
have  a  dollar  a  quart  for  them.  And  so  I  told 
her, — but  she  said  it  w^as  too  much.' 

'  Well,  rather  ! '  said  the  young  lady  drily. 

'  And,'  said  Eunice,  going  steadily  on,  '  mother 
said  that  just  while  it  was  so  early,  fifty  cents  a 
quart  would  be  right.' 

'And  you  won't  let  me  have  'em  for  less  ?' 


80  CHOSS  CORNERS. 

'  No  ma'am.' 

'  Now  did  you  ever  ? '  said  the  yonnf^  lady. 

'How  many  have  you  got  there,  child?'  said 
another,  '  half  a  pint  ?  ' 

'  My  basket  holds  a  pint  and  a  half  of  huckle- 
berries,' said  Eunice,  '  and  it's  quite  full.  But  then 
strawberries  are  big;ger.' 

'  Yes,  strawberries  are  a  good  deal  bigger  than 
most  huckleberries,'  said  the  young  lady,  winking 
at  her  companions.  '  Then  you  think  there's  about 
a  pint  in  it  now  ? ' 

'  Jane,  Jane  ! '  said  the  elderly  lady,  who  seldom 
spoke. 

'  Mother  said,  ma'am,'  answered  Eunice,  '  that  if 
you  measured  theui  yourself,  you  would  be  better 
satisfied  than  if  she  did  it.' 

'  So  I  should,'  said  the  lady:  '  much  better.  Your 
mother  is  a  very  sensible  woman.  Hand  'era  up, 
child, — I  can't  measure  them  till  \  have  them,  you 
know.' 

'  Please,  have  you  got  a  pint  measure  up  there  ? ' 
said  Eunice. 

'  Well  hardly  a  pint,' — said  the  young  lady  with 
a  laugh,  'but  I've  got  a  measuro.  Hand  'em  up, 
child ! ' 

Again  very  miwilliiigly,  and  a  little  bewildcnNl, 


CROSS  CORNERS.  gl 

Eunice  held  out  her  basket;  and  the  groom  seized 
it,  and  passed  it  up  to  the  carriage.  Jane  gave  a 
cry  of  delighted  surprise  as  she  pulled  away  the 
green  thatch  of  strawberry  leaves.  Off  came  her 
white  kid  glove,  and  out  came  a  hand  almost  as 
white,  all  flashing  with  rings.  With  another  little 
cry  she  popped  one  berry  into  her  mouth,  and  then 
a  second,  and  then  a  third;  after  which  they  went 
in  so  fast  that  Eunice  lost  count. 

'Absolutely  sweet!'  cried  the  young  lady,  eat- 
ing away.  'Yes,  I'll  measure  'em,  little  girl,  and 
pay  you  next  time.     Drive  on.' 

'But  ma'am,'  said  Eunice,  pressing  so  close  to 
the  carriage  wheel  that  the  coachman  dared  not 
obey  the  order,  '  1  don't  think  there'll  be  any  when 
you  get  home.  Won't  you,  please  measure  them 
now?  '  The  young  lady  laughed  till  she  fairly  had 
to  stop  eating. 

'  You  are  the  richest  child ! '  she  said,  '  I  haven't 
the  least  doubt  you'll  be  the  death  of  me  some  day. 
Aint  I  measuring  them  just  as  fast  as  I  can  ? 
And  they  just  fit  my  mouth  exactly,  —  look  ! '  and 
pop  went  another  berry. 

'Jane,  I  am  very  much  astonished  at  you,*  said 
the  older  lady.  '  Little  girl,  I  saw  how  the  basket 
was  heaped  up,  and  you  shall  be  paid  for  every 


82  CROSS  CORA'ERS. 

one.  Come  tomorrow  and  bring  some  more,  and 
you  shall  have  the  money  for  both.' 

'  There  won't  be  any,  tomorrow,  ma'am,'  said  Eu- 
nice. '  They're  only  just  beginning  to  get  ripe,  and 
these  were  the  very  first.' 

'  No  strawbemes  tomorrow  ! '  cried  Jane,  pausing 
with  an  uplifted  one  in  her  fingers.  '  O  nonsense, 
child, — there  must  be.     Do  you  hear?' 

'  There  won't  be  any,'  Eunice  repeated.  '  Tlie 
sun's  most  down,  and  there'll  be  nothing  to  make 
'em  sweet.* 

'  But  the  moon's  most  up  ' — said  the  young  lady, 
nodding  her  head  gravely  at  Eunice.  The  child 
looked  perplexed,  and  all  the  three  young  ladies 
burst  into  tits  of  laughter. 

'  Little  girl,'  said  the  older  lady,  leaning  out  of 
the  carriage  and  speaking  kindly,  '  suppose  you 
bring  us  something  else  tomorrow  ?  Radishes, 
you  know,  or  water  cresses  ?     Could  you  do  that  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  know,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice,  her  heart 
swelling.  '  I  can't  get  radishes  till  Davy  comes 
home — there  are  water  cresses  enough.' 

'  Then  why  don't  you  know,  child  ?  '  said  one  ot 
the  others.  Eunice  daslied  off  the  gathering  tears 
and  looked  up  iialf  defiantly. 

'Because  1   don't  know  what    mother  will  sav,' 


CJ^OSS  CORNERS.  83 

she  answered.  '  I  wouldu't  have  brought  the  straw- 
berries— onjy — only — she  thought  if  God  sent  us. 
money  that  way,  we  ought  to  take  it.  I  didn't 
want  to, — but  then  I'm  not  good  as  she  is.  She.  'd 
rather  do  what  God  likes,  than  anything  else  in  all 
the  world.' 

The  child's  tone  softened  as  she  thought  of 
the  beloved  pale,  patient  face  at  home,  ana  a 
warm  glow  came  up  in  her  cheeks.  '  So  if  you 
please,  ma'am,  perhaps  I'll  bring  the  cresses — '  she 
ended,  putting  her  hands  together  with  a  little 
sigh.  Silence  fell  upon  the  gay  carriageful:  they 
sat  looking  at  Eunice,  only  the  coachman  turned 
back  upon  his  box  and  gave  her  a  little  nod  of  ap- 
probation. 

'  What  an  extraordinary  part  of  the  country ! 
said  one  of  the  young  ladies,  breaking  silence. 

'  0  I  wonder  if  frogs  don't  grow  here  ? '  cried 
another.  '  Primitive  enough.  Little  girl,  have  you 
got  any  frogs  ?  ' 

'  Frogs  ?  '  Eunice  repeated,  bewildered.  The 
coachman  turned  away  his  head  now,  to  laugh  se- 
cretly. 

'  Yes,  frogs,'  repeated  the  lady.  '  Just  bring  us 
a  dozen  or  so  with  the  cresses.  What's  the  child 
staring  at.    Don't  you  know  frogs'  hind  legs,  child  ? ' 


84  CROSS  CORNERS. 

"  Yes  ma'am,'  said  Eunice,  '  of  course  they've  got 
hind  legs.     And  fore  legs  too.' 

'  0  their  fore  legs  don't  count, — you  can  keep 
them  yourself,'  said  the  lady.  '  Only  bring  plenty 
of  hind  legs.     Now  drive  on.' 

And  away  rolled  the  carriage ;  with  Jane  nod- 
ding mockingly  back  to  Eunice,  as  an  extra  sized 
strawberry  went  into  her  mouth. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

It  would  be  hard  to  tell  the  hidden  uproar  of 
heart  in  which  Eunice  began  her  walk  home.  She 
stood  gazing  after  the  carriage  until  it  had  whirled 
round  a  bend  of  the  road,  out  of  sight ;  then  turned 
and  set  off  for  home  as  if  she  was  walking  for  a 
wager.  Pat,  pat,  went  the  little  feet;  the  dust 
flew;  and  Eunice  forgot  to  step  out  of  it,  to  the 
right  hand  or  the  left.  She  never  looked  up  or 
paused  for  breath  till  she  was  once  more  in  the  vil- 
lage; and  nothing  stayed  her  then  for  a  while. 
But  suddenly  the  sound  of  a  clear,  cheery  whistle 
caught  her  ear;  and  there  to  be  sure  was  Pavid, 
hard  at  work  in  the  shoemaker's  garden. 

'  O  Davy,  when  did  you  get  home  ?  '  cried  Eunice, 
springing  up  to  the  fence.  '  0  please  stop  digging, 
and  come  out  and  talk  to  me  ! ' 

'  How  do  you  do,  small  child?'  said  David  with 
a  smile  and  a  nod.  '  In  a  peck  of  troubles,  as  usu- 
al ?      But  1  can't  stop,  Eunice,  not  one  minute,  till 

the  bell  rings.' 

(85) 


So  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  Just  a  minute  ! '  pleaded  Eunice. 

'  You  don't  commoulj  let  me  off  in  a  minute,'  said 
David  with  a  laugh.  *  But  if  you  would,  1  couldn't. 
' Its  my  day's  work,  you  see,  and  every  minute  is 
due.' 

'Does  Mr.  Vamp  give  you  a  great  deal,  Davy?' 
said  Eunice,  tor  the  time  divertea  tiom  iier  ovv^n 
troubles. 

'  Well,  no — I  should  say  decidedly  not,'  answer- 
ed David.  '  But  then  I  guess  he  couldn't  afford 
it.  And  I'm  pretty  much  like  both  sets  of  the 
folks  that  gathered  manna:  I  don't  often  have  any- 
thing over,  —  and  I  generally  have  no  lack.' 
And  David  plied  his  spade  quicker  than  ever, 
breaking  forth  in  a  joyous  song. 

"  Not  half  80  high  his  power  hath  spread 
The  starry  heaveus  above  our  head  : 
As  his  rich  love  exceeds  oiir  praise, 
Exceeds  the  highest  hopes  we  raise." 

Eunice  listened — then  she  gave  a  little  sob. 

'  But  Davy,  /  don't  feel  so,'  she  said. 

'  Learn  it  as  quick  as  you  can,  then,'  said  David. 

'  I  can  think  of  a  great  deal  more  than  I  get,' 
Eunice  went  on.  Almost  without  pausing,  David 
took  a  little  wooden  cone  from  his  pocket  and 
tossed  it  to  her. 


CJiOSS  CORNERS.  37 

'Just  till  I  get  through,  small  child,'  he  said, 
'  amuse  yourself  with  that.  Make  it  stand  on  the 
fence,  point  down,  Eunice  Keith.' 

With  the  easy,  happy  transition  of  a  child, 
Eunice  caught  the  little  toy,  and  turned  all  her 
thoughts  into  this  new  channel-  She  set  up  the 
little  cone  upon  the  fence,  and  down  it  fell;  rolling 
away  so  that  Eunice  had  to  run  after  it :  she  set  it 
up  again,  and  down  it  came  as  before. 

'  Davy,'  called  Eunice,  '  it  won't  stand  on  the 
point.' 

'  Won't  it — ? '  said  David.  '  Well  you  ought  to 
manage  it  if  anybody  can.' 

'  I  can't  manage  it  at  all ' — said  Eunice,  after 
another  failure  and  another  run. 

'  Try  again.' 

So  Eunice  tried  again — and  again ;  and  every 
time  the  little  cone  tumbled  down  so  fast,  that  it 
was  on  the  grass  before  she  could  catch  it. 

'  It's  no  use  trying,  Davy,'  she  said :  '  it  just 
wmUt     May  I  set  it  t'other  end  down  ?  ' 

'  You  don't  like  that  way,'  said  David,  digging 
on. 

'  Why  yes  1  do  ! '  cried  Eunice,  setting  the  little 
cone  now  with  its  broad  end  down.  '  And  it  stands 
beautifully.     Look,  Davy.' 


gg  CROSS  CORNERS. 

David  glanced  over  and  nodded  assent. 

'  0  /  like  it  so,'  he  said.  '  In  fact  I  don't  often 
set  it  any  other  way.' 

'  Then  why  did  you  bid  me  ? '  said  Eunice.  '  O 
Davy,  do  make  haste  !  I  want  to  talk  to  you  ever 
so  much.' 

'  Talk  away,'  said  David  with  a  smile.  '  But  as 
to  '  making  haste ' — I  can't  hurry  the  sun,  small 
child.  And  there  never  was  but  one  man  allowed 
to  stop  it.     So  be  easy.' 

'  Well  I  think  the  sun's  very  slow  sometimes,' 
said  little  Eunice,  '  and  I  don't  see  why  Solomon 
said  it  makes  haste.' 

' "  The  sun  also  ariseth,  and  the  sun  goeth  down, 
and  hasteth  to  his  place  whence  he  arose," — repeated 
David,  with  a  glance  towards  '  the  greater  light ' 
now  sinking  away  in  the  west.  '  That's  because 
you  are  in  a  hurry  yourself", — and  so  of  course  you 
want  things  faster  than  the  regulation  time.  "  As 
the  servant  earnestly  desireth  the  shadow " ' — 
David  repeated,  half  aloud;  then  making  his  spade 
fly  faster  than  ever.  'What's  the  matter  now, 
Eunice  Keith?' 

'0  I'm  always  in  a  puzzle,  Davy,'  said  Eunice. 

'  Another  quarter  dollar?'  suggested  David. 

'It's  a  whole  one,  this  time,'  said  Eunice 


CROSS  CORNERS.  89 

'  Well  that  would  not  puzzle  me  long,'  said  David 
with  a  laugh. 

'  It's  those  ladies  at  the  Cross  Corners,'  explained 
Eunice.  '  They'd  give  a  dollar  a  quart  for  every 
strawberry  I  can  lind, — only  mother  says  that  it's 
too  much,  and  fifty  cents  might  be  right  just  at  first. 
But  that  would  be  a  dollar  for  two  quarts,  Davy.' 

'Where's  the  puzzle,  then?'  said  David.  'To 
find  the  berries  ?  They'll  be  thick  as  bees,  before 
you're  a  week  older.' 

'  Yes,  but  Davy — I  don't  want  to  give  'em  one  ! ' 
said  Eunice,  her  eyes  filling  ;  '  I  want  mother  to 
eat  'em.  And  I  don't  like  to  do  it,  besides.  And  I 
tliought  rd  missed  'em  today,  and  oh  I  was  so 
happy!  And  then  they  just  met  me,  and  carried 
'em  all  ofi",  and  eat  'em  all  up  on  the  way  home  ! ' 

'  Well  you've  got  the  money  safe,  this  time  ? ' 
said  David. 

'  Not  yet,'  said  Eunice,  '  but  that  don't  matter  ; 
'cause  they  said  I  should  have  it  tomorrow  when  1 
brought  more.  But  I  do  so  hate  to  go  there  ! — and 
I  do  so — so — not  like  those  people.  And  mother's 
got  nofMnf/ for  tea  but  just  dry  bread, — and  I  daresay 
they've  got  cake,  and  butter,  and  sweetmeats  and 
everything ! '  And  Eunice  put  down  her  head 
against  the  palings  and  sobbed. 


90  CROSS  CORNERS. 

For  a  little  David  made  no  reply,  finishing  his 
garden  bed.  Then  just  as  the  sun  dipped  down 
behind  the  trees  a  great  bell  clanged  out  over  the 
village,  and  the  busy  spading  ceased. 

'  Now  I'm  ready  for  you,'  said  David  cheerily, 
straightening  himself  up.  '  Why  don't  cry  so, 
small  child  !  You  can't  lay  this  world's  dust  in 
that  fashion.  They'll  make  it  all  right,  I  guess:  if 
they  don't,  /'ll  pay  'em  a  visit.'  Eunice  smiled  up 
at  him  through  her  tears. 

'Thank  you,  Davy,'  she  said,  'you're  real  good. 
0  I  wasn't  crying  about  that,  exactly, — though  it 
would  have  been  a  little  fun  to  take  even  the  money 
home.  But  it's  everything,  Davy  ! '  said  the  little 
girl  with  an  uneasy  twist  of  her  shoulders.  '  It's 
all — just — hateful! — as  I  said.' 

'  Don t  say  it  again,' said  David  gravely:  'you 
are  forgetting  whose  child  you  are.  Nothing  is 
hateful  that  God  sends,  Eunice  Keith.' 

'  What  does  he  send  hateful  things  for  then  ? '  said 
Eunice  illogically.     David  could  not  help  a  smile. 

'I  don't  seethe  hatefulness,'  he  said:  'where 
does  it  stick  ?  To  the  strawberries  or  the  money  ? 
Or  your  beautiful  walk  on  a  summer  day  ?  Or  your 
helping  your  mother?  or  your  doing  just  what  the 
df'ar  Lord  gives  you  to  do  ?' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  91 

Eunice  replied  first  with  another  sob. 

'While  you're  talking,  Davy,  it  seems  as  if  it  was 
all  me,'  she  said.  'Do  you  think  the  Lord  did 
really  give  me  that  to  do  ? ' 

'  I'm  just  as  sure  of  it  as  if  I  heard  him  speak.' 

'  Mother  said,'  Eunice  went  on  thoughtfully,  '  that 
if  I  didn't  forget  I  was  God's  child,  then  when 
there  was  anything  to  do  for  him  I  should  find  it 
out.' 

'  Ay,'  said  David  :  '  Mrs.  Keith  knows.  And 
what  an  honour  it  is,  when  God  permits  such  a 
little  girl  as  you,  to  help  him  take  care  of  her 
mother.' 

Eunice  stopped  short  and  clasped  her  hands. 

'  0  Davy,  is  that  it  ? '  she  cried. 

'That  is  just  it,  small  child.' 

'  I'll  never  say  another  word,'  said  Eunice  walk- 
ing on  very  fast.  '  Not  if  the  people  are  ever  so 
horrid.  But  oh  Davy,'  and  she  stopped  again  and 
looked  wistfully  up  in  his  face, — '  it  would  have 
helped  take  care  of  her,  to  make  her  eat  the  straw- 
berries herself !  ' 

David's  own  eyes  grew  dim. 

'  See  here,'  he  said,  pulling  out  his  book  and 
walking  slow : '  I  can't  get  safe  out  of  such  locked- 
up  corners  with  anything  but  a  Bible  key.     So  I 


92  CJ^OSS  COi<i\EKS. 

keep  a  bunch  of  'em  always  in  my  pocket. 
First  I  Jiave  to  use  one,  and  then  I  have  to 
use  another.  Now  this  one  opens  your  door, 
Eunice   Keith. 

""Seek  ye  not  what  ye  shall  eat,  nor  what  ye 
shall  drink,  neither  be  ye  of  doubtful  mind:  for  all 
these  things  do  the  nations  of  the  world  seek 
after," — (the  people  who  forget,  you  know)  '•  and 
your  Father  knoweth  that  ye  have  need  of  such 
things." 

'  There  it  is,'  said  David  cheerily.  '  The  dear  Lord 
knows  how  you  would  like  to  pick  strawberries  for 
your  mother,  and  how  good  they  would  be  for 
her, — and  then  he  bids  you  pick  'era  for  somebody 
else.' 

'  But  why  ?  '  queried  Eunice. 

'  Ah,  '  why  '  is  a  very  big  word — for  all  it  looks 
so  little.  I  can't  tell  you,  small  child,  but  one  day 
the  Lord  wdll  tell  you  himself  Only  keep  your 
ears  open  and  your  heart  ready.  ^laybethe  money 
will  do  her  most  good,  just  now.' 

'  I  wonder  !  ' — said  Eunice.  '  But  Davy — '  and 
the  child's  voice  went  down  to  a  whisper, —  '  I  don't 
raiud  telling  yo>u — but  we  don't  have  much  variety 
to  eat.  And  sometimes  I  think  mother  gets  tired 
of  just  bread,  bread.' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  93 

David's  eyes  moistened  again,  though  he  smiled 
too. 

'  I  don't  believe  she  does,'  he  said :  '  she  knows 
the  Lord  sent  it  —  and  his  touch  sweetens  all. 
"That thou  givest  them  they  gather,'"  he  added, 
with  the  up-look  again. 

'  Well  she  don't  eat  much — so  I  wanted  some  ber- 
ries for  her  dreadfully^'  Eunice  ended  with  a  long 
sigh. 

'  How  would  some  radishes  do  ? — nice  long 
ones,  with  green  tops  ? ' 

'  0  splendidly'  cried  Eunice :  '  she  does  love  rad- 
ishes !     But  they  don't  grow  wild,  Davy.' 

'  I  know  where  they  do  grow,'  answered  David, 
'  so  then  we're  all  right.' 

He  led  his  little  companion  along,  talking  cheer- 
fully of  other  things,  until  they  were  almost  through 
the  village.  Then  paused  before  a  neat  little  white 
house  ^s-ith  a  red  lily  in  full  bloom  in  the  window, 
and  ran  in,  bidding  Eunice  wait  for  him  outside. 
And  in  three  minutes  David  was  back  again,  with  a 
little  handful  of  the  freshest,  largest,  reddest  rad- 
ishes that  anybody  ever  saw. 

'Take 'em  and  run,  small  child,'  he  said.  '1 
suppose  you've  got  salt  at  home.'  And  away  he 
darted  off  in  another  direction,  while   Eunice  ran 


94  CROSS  COHA'EJiS. 

home.  But  how  happy  she  felt !  and  how  good  the 
radishes  were  !  and  the  little  girl  never  imagined 
that  some  of  DaWd's  own  hard-earned  cents  had 
drawn  them  from  the  garden  ground  of  the  stingi- 
est man  in  all  the  village.  But  Mrs.  Keith  guessed, 
and  the  Lord  knew. 


THi^PTETl  X. 

It  would  be  hard  to  tell  how  delicious  the  radish- 
es tasted  that  night  :  how  they  freshened  and 
spiced  up  the  dry  bread ;  and  made  Eunice  partly 
forget  that  she  had  not  her  usual  glass  of  blue 
milk.  She  had  proposed  to  go  for  it,  late  as  it  was, 
but  Mrs.  Keith  said  no, — they  could  do  with  water, 
as  had  sometimes  happened  before.  Truth  was, 
cents  were  very  scarce  in  the  little  house:  and  Mrs. 
Keith  dared  not  spend  them  for  anything  but  in- 
dispensables.  Now  that  the  barefoot  season  of  the 
year  had  come,  shoe-binding  had  dwindled  to  a 
very  slender  trade. 

'It's  good  salt's  cheap,'  said  Eunice,  dipping  her 
crimson  radish  into  the  little  white  heap  on  her 
plate.  '  Mother,  do  you  suppose  those  ladies  eat 
theirs  with  sugar  ?  ' 

'Their  radishes?  no,  I  should  think  not' 
'They're  such  funny  upside-down  people,'   said 

Eunice:  '  don't  ever  say  what  they  mean,  and  don't 

(m) 


(JO  CROSS  CORNERS. 

mean  what  they  say.  Why  they  told  me  to  bring 
'em  two  dozen  frogs !  I  guess  they'd  squeal  pretty 
well,  if  1  did.' 

'  I  do  not  wish  you  to  take  them  frogs,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith.     '  You  can  tell  them  so,  if  they  ask  again.' 

'  O  I  daresay  they'll  lorgou  it  i,y  next  tiuic,'  said 
Eunice.  '  They  never  say  the  same  thing  twice. 
One  cries  out  this  and  the  other  cries  out  that,  and 
then  they  all  wink  and  laugh  and  clap  their  hands,' 
— and  Eunice  went  on  u-ith  her  radish. 

'  Eunice,  love,'  said  Mrs.  Keith  presently,  '  try  to 
notice  as  little  as  possible  what  those  ladies  say  or 
do.  Speak  modestly,  answer  politely,  and  come 
away.' 

'  0  I  don't  want  to  stay  there  a  minute,'  said  Eu- 
nice. 'Do  the  radishes  taste  good,  mother? 'she 
asked  earnestly. 

'  Very  good,  love.' 

'  I'm  so  glad  ! '  said  Eunice.  '  Davy's  just  the 
dearest  fellow  that  ever  was.  Do  you  know,  moth- 
er, he  keeps  a  whole  bunch  of  keys  in  his  pocket, 
to  let  him.self  quick  out  of  hard  places  ? ' 

'  Bible  keys,  I  suppose,'  said  Mrs.  Keith  with  a 
smile.     '  So  do  I,  Eunice.' 

'  0  do  you  ?'  cried  Eunice.  '  You  never  told  me 
before.' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  97 

'  My  little  daughter  has  not  been  in  many  hard 
places  yet,'  said  Mrs.  Keith  tenderly ;  '  and  there 
was  no  need  to  trouble  her  with  mine.' 

'  Well  I  was  in  a  real  hard  one  this  afternoon,' 
said  Eunice,  '  and  Davy  thought  his  key  opened  it 
right  away.' 

'  Did  not  Eunice  think  so?  ' 

'  I  don't  know — '  said  the  little  girl.  '  I  guess  I 
didn't  come  out  as  fast  as  I  might,  when  it  -was 
open.  You  see  I  was  telling  Davy  how  I  wanted 
the  strawberries  for  you,  and  how  I  thought  it 
would  make  a  change  to  have  more  variety,  and — 
O  what  key  would  you  have  taken,  mother?'  and 
Eunice  looked  up  in  amused  questioning. 

'  It  takes  a  master  key  for  a  lock  like  that,'  said 
Mrs.  Keith,  her  heart  echoing  every  word  not  for 
herself  but  for  her  child.  '  Probably  this  one,  Eu- 
nice: "  Your  Father  knoweth  that  ye  have  need 
of  such  things."  ' 

Eunice  clapped  her  hands. 

'  The  very  one  ! '  she  said.  '  I  must  tell  Davy. 
But  now  I  must  clear  the  table.  Mother,  here's  a 
queer  man  at  the  door, — Why  it's  that  man  that 
rides  behind  the  carriage  !  — ' 

'  Eat-tat-tat-tat ! '  went  the  knocker.  Mrs.  Keith 
opened  the  door, — Eunice  peeped  from  behind  her. 


98  CROSS  CORNERS. 

There  stood  a  tall  footman  in  white  stockings,  buflF 
trousers,  and  purple  coat. 

'  The  little  girls  basket — '  he  said,  handing  it 
in.  '  ^liss  Jane  thought  as  'ow  she  mightn't  have 
h'another,  and  she  wants  the  strawberries,  uncom- 
'on.  And  Miss  Hada  must  'ave  the  frogs  by  two 
o'clock,  she  says.     So  don't  forget.' 

With  which  brief  announcement,  the  tall  footman 
twirled  his  long  skirts  about  him  and  strode  away. 

Neither  mother  nor  daughter  said  a  word.  Eu- 
nice had  looked  up  with  flashing  eyes,  but  some- 
thing in  her  mother's  compressed  lips  stayed  the 
eager  words  upon  her  own.  Silently  she  began  to 
put  away  the  little  remaining  bread  crust,  and  the 
radishes  that  were  left, — to  keep  cool  for  break- 
fast ;  secretly  watching  her  mother  the  while.  For 
the  lips  did  not  at  first  unbend,  and  a  spot  of  vivid 
red  had  stained  the  two  pale  cheeks.  Privately,  in 
her  heart,  Eunice  felt  just  a  little  bit  triumphant. 
Now  her  mother  would  see,  she  thought,  how  those 
people  could  talk,  and  what  they  were  like.  Maybe 
she  wouldn't  be  quite  so  ready  noiu  to  take  their 
money, — and  Eunice  made  a  little  private  ges- 
ture of  disgust  all  to  herself.  If  they'd  send  such 
messages  to  her  mother,  what  would  th(»y  do  to 
her?     'Such  a  man  ! '  quoth  Eunice,  Mitli  another 


CROSS  CORNERS.  99 

little  toss  of  her  head.  '  Why  if  they  were  just 
made  of  money,  it  wouldn't  make  'em  nice! '  Mrs. 
Keith  caught  the  airy  gesture,  and  smiled. 

'  Come  here,  little  daughter,'  she  said,  laying  off 
her  abstraction.  'Never  mind  the  candle  for  a  few 
minutes.'  Then  as  the  little  girl  sprang  on  her 
lap  and  was  wrapped  up  in  her  arms,  the  mother 
asked :     '  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Eunice  ? ' 

'  If  I'd  been  a  boy,'  said  Eunice,  hotly,  raising  her 
head  again,  '  I  guess  that  man  would  have  been 
sorry.' 

'  I'm  afraid  I  should  too,  in  that  case,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith.     '  Do  you  want  a  key,  little  daughter  ? ' 

Eunice  smiled. 

'  But  wasn't  he  hateful,'  she  said. 

'  He  was  ill-mannered — not  hateful.  You  must 
never  say  that  of  anybody.' 

'  But  you  didn't  like  it.' 

'  No,  it  was  a  disagreeable  place  to  be  in,  even 
for  a  minute.  So  like  Davy,  I  took  a  key  and  let 
myself  out.' 

'  Well  I  should  have  let  Mm  out,  with  a  good 
push, — if  I'd  been  a  boy,'  said  Eunice. 

'  That  would  have  left  me  just  where  I  was.' 

And  then  Mrs.  Keith  began  to  sing:  the  low 
soft  voice  making  every  word  plain. 


100  CJ?OSS  CORNERS. 

"  Christ,  of  all  my  hopes  the  ground, 
"  Christ,  the  source  of  every  joy, 
"  Still  iu  thee  let  me  be  fouud, 
"  Still  for  thee  my  powers  employ. 

"  Let  thy  love  my  heart  inflame, 
"  Keep  thy  fear  before  mj'  sight  ; 
"  Be  thy  praise  my  highest  aim, 
"  Be  thy  smile  my  chief  delight." 

Mrs.  Keith  went  through  all  the  sweet,  calm 
verses,  and  Eunice  listened,  nestling  close  in  her 
mother's  arms  ;  the  overcharge  of  excitement 
working  off  in  a  long  drawn  breath  now  and  then. 
When  the  hymn  ended,  she  was  quite  quiet  again. 

'  How  did  you  get  out,  mother  ? '  she  asked 
softly. 

'  With  what  key  of  my  bunch,  Eunice?  this: 

'''0  thou  wicked  servant;  I  forgave  thee  all  that 
debt.'" 

Eunice  sat  straight  up  in  wide-eyed  amazement. 

'That  was  the  man  that  owed  ten  thousand  ta- 
lents,' she  said. 

'  Yes ;  and  who  after  all  his  great  debt  had  been 
forgiven  was  hard  upon  a  poor  fellow  servant  who 
owed  him  a  hundred  pence.  Don't  you  see,  love  ? 
These  little  kindnesses  and  courtesies  which  are 
really  due  from  our  fellow-creatures,  are  but  the 
debt  of  a  few  pence, — trifling,  easy  to  forgive,  when 


CROSS  CORNERS.  JQI 

we  remember  that  our  dear  Lord  has  cast  the  whole 
mountain  of  our  sins  into  the  depths  of  the  sea,  and 
will  remember  them  no  more.' 

Eunice  sighed  a  little  again,  but  this  time  it  was 
for  herself. 

'  I  s  pose  I  ought  to  feel  so  too,'  she  said, — '  but 
I  don't.  Not  always.'  Then  another  thought 
struck  her,  and  she  raised  her  head  again.  'Has 
anybody  sent  you  some  money,  mother  ? ' 

'  Ko,  love.     Why  ?  ' 

'  Because  you're  not  sewing,'  said  Eunice.  '  I 
don't  think  I  evei^  saw  you  stop,  before.' 

iVlrs.  Keith  paused  a  moment  before  she  an- 
swered. 

'I  pricked  my  finger  the  other  day,'  she  said: 
'and  to-day  it  feels  rather  sore.  So  I  thought  I 
would  give  it  an  evening's  rest.' 

'Which  finger?'  cried  Eunice,  starting  up. 

'  This  left  thumb.' 

In  an  instant  the  child  had  caught  the  sufiering 
hand  to  her  breast,  kissing  and  rocking  it. 

'  O  I  thought  God  had  sent  you  some  money  ! ' 
she  cried,  '  and  he  has  just  let  you  prick  your 
thumb ! ' 

'  Hush,  hush,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  kissing  in  her 
turn   the  trembling  lips.     '  Why   that   is   all   my 


102  CKOSS  CORNERS. 

comfort,  Eunice.  "  It  is  tlie  Lord:  let  him  do 
what  seemeth  him  good. '"  Our  Father  which  is  in 
heaven  has  a  right  to  all  my  fingers,  and  both  my 
hands.' 

But  for  all  that,  Eunice  cried  herself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  finger  was  no  better  next  day.  There  was  lit- 
tle show  of  trouble,  but  holding  the  work  so  much 
increased  the  pain  that  Mrs.  Keith  dared  do  it  no 
more.  She  had  already  ventured  too  much  in  that 
way.  But  daylight  is  a  more  strength- giving  in- 
fluence than  the  darkness ;  and  Eunice  jumped  up 
all  toned  and  keen  for  work:  quite  ready,  in  fact, 
to  take  the  world  on  her  shoulders.  She  never 
guessed  the  darting  pains  that  shot  through  that 
idle  hand:  she  never  knew  that  her  mother  had 
hardly  closed  her  eyes  all  night:  her  own  view  of 
the  case  was  a  very  bright  one  now;  her  mother 
must  stop  shoe-binding,  and  let  her  support  the 
family  with  strawberries.  So  she  chattered  away 
over  her  dry  bread  breakfast  ;  and  Mrs.  Keith 
smiled  at  her,  and  hid  her  own  suffering  quite 
away. 

'  I  s'pose  I'd  better  go  after  the  cresses  the  first 

thing — don't   yon   think   so,  mother?'    she    said. 

(103) 


104  C/;!OSS  CORNERS. 

*  Because  I  know  the  strawberries  won't  be  ripe. 
The  sun  didn't  shine  on  'em  more  than  an  hour,  I 
jj;-uess.' 

'  Yes,  get  the  cresses  and  take  them  at  once  to  tlie 
Cross  Corners,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  'And  give  noth- 
ing to  the  servants.  Eunice :  always  see  the  ladies 
themselves.' 

'  I  guess  I  will — and  I  guess  I  won't ! '  said  Eu- 
nice, tying  her  sun  bonnet. 

'Come  here  and  let  me  look  at  you.' 

Eunice  came — and  the  mother  looked,  from  hair 
to  shoestrings,  to  see  that  all  was  in  order :  then 
gave  her  a  tender  kiss  and  let  her  go. 

'  I  hope  your  finger  '11  be  all  well  before  I  come 
back' — Eunice  called  to  her  from  the  outside,  tap- 
ping on  the  window.  And  Mrs.  Keith  nodded  and 
smiled  another  goodbye,  but  answered  with  no 
words  of  hope  of  her  own.  No,  this  finger  was  to 
be  a  serious  matter,  she  felt.  And  thoughts — many 
and  troubled,  and  then  peaceful,  filled  her  heart. 
For  again  that  little  golden  key  had  '  brought  her 
out  into  a  large  place,'  wherefrom  the  outlook 
was  only  sweet. 

"It  is  the  Lord:  let  hiui  do  what  seemeth  him 
good."  Mrs.  Keith  leaned  her  head  back,  and  even 
slept  by  moments,  between  the  lunges  of  pain. 


CHOSS  CORNERS.  105 

Meanwhile  Eunice,  basket  in  hand,  ran  gayly 
along  the  road ;  and  once  reaching  the  brook,  turned 
short  off  and  wandered  away  up  stream,  to  where 
the  cresses  were  plenty.  But  dear  me  !  there  were 
bullfrogs,  and  sparrows,  and  robins,  and  blue  birds 
too ;  with  little  fish  in  the  pools  of  the  brook,  and 
flowers  along  its  banks.  Except  for  the  aching 
finger,  I  cannot  tell  when  the  basket  would  have 
been  filled,  but  the  thought  of  that  made  her  hur- 
ry. And  with  instinctive  taste,  when  the  little 
basket  was  heaped  with  the  dripping  cresses,  Eu- 
nice picked  sprays  of  blue  forget-me-nots,  and 
strewed  them  over  the  green.  Then  with  a  last 
loving  look  at  the  green  bullfrog  who  sat  on  a 
stone  calling  out  "Ca-chunk!  Ca-chunk  I "  Eu- 
nice jumped  from  stone  to  stone  across  the  brook, 
scrambled  up  the  bank,  and  was  soon  at  the  Cross 
Corners  Cottage.  But  anything  like  what  she  saw 
there,  Eunice  had  certainly  never  seen  before. 

No  danger  of  finding  everyone  away  today ! 
A  bay  window  stood  wide  open,  and  the  door,  too  ; 
and  out  doors,  in  front  of  the  house,  stood  the  break- 
fast table.  But  such  a  table  !  Eunice,  standing  spell 
bound,  took  in  the  details.  That  must  be  beefsteak 
in  that  broad  white  dish;  it  looked  like  it  and  smelt 
like  it :  '  a  whole  beefsteak  ! '  said  Eunice  to  her- 


106  CROSS  CORNERS. 

self.  And  there  were  boiled  eggs  enough  to  set  a 
hen;  besides  a  platter  with  golden  rolls  of  some- 
thing which  might  also  be  eggs.  But  now  Eunice 
got  bewildered.  Brown  bread,  white  bread,  baked 
potatoes,  and  hot  rolls, — pitchers  of  milk, — a  dish 
of  honey, — all  mixed  up  with  pink  and  white  cups, 
great  glass  goblets  and  glittering  spoons, — it  turned 
her  head.  She  stood  gazing  with  eyes  that  grew 
unconsciously  wistful;  smelling  the  rich  coflfee 
fragrance,  saying  to  herself:  '0  if  mother  had  just 
a  little  bit !'     "  Of  anything  !"  Eunice  thought. 

Round  the  table,  in  camp  chairs,  rocking-chairs, 
all  sorts  of  easy  accommodation,  sat  her  carriage 
load  of  fairies;  and  the  ribbands  and  lace  and  soft 
flowing  garments,  were  almost  as  dazing  as  the 
breakfast.  In  the  doorway  was  the  waiter  just 
coming  out  with  a  plate  of  muffins. 

Being  but  a  little  person,  Eunice  had  not  taken 
in  all  these  wonders  until  she  was  close  at  hand, 
so  that  her  pause  was  very  near  the  table :  and  the 
ladies  on  their  part,  criticising  their  breakfast,  took 
no  note  of  the  soft  steps;  and  it  was  not  till  a  long 
deep  sigh  escaped  the  little  girl's  lips,  that  anyone 
looked  up. 

'  Good  gracious ! '  cried  Miss  Jane,  dropping  her 
fork ;  '  whatever  in  the  world  is  that  ?  ' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  107 

'  If  you  please,  madam,'  said  the  waiter,  'it's  the 
little  girl  and  the  basket.' 

'  0  my  strawberries  ! '  cried  Jane,  turning  round. 
'  Come  here,  child, — don't  stand  there.  Hurry  ! 
Maybe  they'll  give  me  an  appetite.' 

'  But  it's  not  strawberries,'  said  Eunice,  coming 
close  to  Miss  Jane's  corner :  '  there  were  no  straw- 
berries ripe.  So  mother  thought  I'd  better  bring 
some  cresses.' 

'  So  you  had,'  said  Miss  Jane :  '  very  sensible  wo- 
man.    Hand  'em  here,  child.' 

'  How  can  you  touch  them,  Jane,'  said  Miss  Ada : 
'  all  full  of  leeches  and  things  ! ' 

'  No  ma'am,  they're  not,'  said  Eunice.  'I  picked 
'em  myself,  and  picked  'em  over.  They're  just 
cresses.' 

'  And  forget-me-nots  ! '  said  Jane,  with  a  cry  of 
delight  as  she  opened  the  basket.    "  Vergiss-meiii 
nicht." — I   won't,  either!      You   delightful   child, 
what  made  you  pick  these  ? ' 

'  For  money  of  course,'  said  Miss  Julia  coldly. 

'  Well  how  much  is  the  whole  thing  ? '  said  Jane. 
'  Lump  it,  now,  child, — because  I'm  very  poor,  and 
can't  afford  to  pay  for  things  separately.  How 
much  for  cresses  and  flowers  and  all  ? 

'  Please,'  said  Eunice  (it  was  not  too  easy  to  edge 


108  CHOSS  CORNERS. 

in  a  word  among  these  lively  ladies)  '  the  flowers 
don't  cost  anything.  And  I  don't  know  what  the 
cresses  are  worth.  Mother  said  you  would  know 
what  you  had  paid  other  people.' 

'  But  we  got  sucii  wretched  stuff  in  town,'  said 
Miss  Jane ;  '  and  these  are  just  magnifique  !  Well 
child,  see, — shall  we  say  a  quarter  for  the  cresses, 
and  throw  the  flowers  in  ? ' 

'  The  flowers  aren't  to  sell,'  said  Eunice  steadily. 
'  But  isn't  a  quarter  too  much  for  the  cresses  ? ' 

'  Picked  this  morning  ?  '  said  Miss  Jane. 

'0  yes,  ma'am;  I've  just  come  from  the  brook,' 

'  Imagine  it !'  said  Miss  Julia. 

'  Yes,  imagine  it,'  said  Jane.  '  And  now  you're 
dying  for  your  breakfast,  I'll  warrant  ?' 

'  I've  had  breakfast,'  said  Eunice. 

'  Nonsense,'  said  Miss  Jane,  '  I  don't  believe  it. 
Couldn't  be,  you  know,  child.  Servants  won't  get 
breakfast  by  moonshine,  unless  you're  going  to  the 
station;  and  hardly  then.' 

'  Jane,  I  am  surprised  at  you,'  said  Miss  Julia. 
'  Such  people  don't  have  servants.' 

'  Don't  they  ? '  said  Jane  recklessly, — '  don't  you, 
child  ?     Who  gets  the  breakftist  ?  ' 

'  Mother  and  I,'  said  Eunice  simply.  '  And  we 
don't  want  any  servants.     I'd  rathtr  do  it  for  mo- 


CROSS  CORNERS.  109 

ther.  aud  she'd  rather  do  it  for  me.'  There  was  a 
certain  dignity  in  the  little  girl's  manner,  what 
though  it  was  a  trifle  defiant,  that  was  rather  im- 
posing. The  ladies  all  paused  in  their  breakfast 
and  looked  at  her. 

'You  are  the  most  delightful  midget !'  said  Miss 
Jane.  '  But  I  don't  believe  you  know  how  to  get 
breakfast.  Can  you  make  things  like  that,  child? ' 
and  she  pointed  to  a  crisped  yellow  puff  that  just 
then  came  on  the  table.  '  Or  did  you  ever  see 
anything  like  this?' — and  Miss  Jane  popped  such 
a  large,  well-buttered  section  of  muffin  into  her 
mouth,  that  Eunice  answered  truthfully, 

'  No  ma'am.' 

And  the  meaning  was  so  evident,  that  all  the 
girls  clapped  their  hands  and  shouted  with  laugh- 
tei\ 

'  She  has  you  there,  Jane,'  said  Miss  Ada.  '  Never 
saw  anybody's  mouth  open  so  wide  —  did  you, 
child  ? ' 

'  So  small  a  mouth' — corrected  Jane.  '  Soper — 
fetch  me  a  large  stem  glass — and  a  small  cup  and 
plate.  And  a  dish,  Soper.  You  are  going  to  have 
some  breakfast,  Midget,  before  you  are  three  min- 
utes older.  Real  breakfast,  you  know.'  And  Miss 
Jane  disposed  of  the  second  half  of  her  muffin,  and 


110  C/?OSS  CORNERS. 

buttered  another  that  came  in  smoking  hot.  Soper 
brought  the  dishes,  and  then  she  bade  him  bring  a 
chair  and  two  cushions;  and  pending  the  fulfilment 
of  this  order,  began  to  lift  out  the  forget-me-nots 
and  place  them  in  the  glass.  Arranging  flowers 
was  one  of  Miss  Jane's  strong  points  ;  and  as  Eu- 
nice watched  the  white  fingers  that  wrought  so 
deftly,  an  unconscious  sigh  oi  admiration  escaped 
her. 

'  I  wish  1  could  do  that  —  so,'  she  said. 

'  You  blessed  child,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  Sort  the 
flowers,  do  you  mean  ?  O  here  come  the  cushions. 
Set  the  chair  here,  Soper,  by  me;  and  then  just  lift 
the  little  girl  into  her  place.' 

'  Jane,  I  do  protest,'  said  Miss  Ada. 
'  Happily  my  breakfast  is  done, — '  said  Miss  Julia, 
leaning  back  in  displeasure. 

'  What's  the  matter  ? '  said  Jane :  '  the  child's 
{IS  neat  as  a  pink.  Here,  Midget, — you  are  to  eat 
everything  I  give  you, — do  you  understand?'  If 
you  leave  a  single  crumb  I  shall  put  some  more  to 
it,  and  make  you  eat  that.     So  begin.' 

Eunice,  the  while,  had  felt  herself  suddenly  and 
gently  taken  off  her  feet  and  placed  upon  the  pile 
of  cushions,  and  before  she  had  time  to  take  breath 
or  sav  a  word,  there  was  set  before  her  such  a  plate 


CA'OSS  CORNERS.  \\\ 

of  dainties  as  had  never  appeared  to  her  hungriest 
imagination,  even  in  dreams.  But  though  truly 
her  dry-bread  breakfast  and  early  walk  had  left 
her  a  keen  appetite,  yet  somehow  the  little  girl 
shrank  back  from  this  savoury  array. 

'  I'd  rather  not,  thank  you,  ma'am,'  she  said.  '  I 
had  breakfast  a  great  while  ago.' 

'  Why  of  course  ! '  cried  Miss  Jane  in  triumph  : 
'that's just  it.  So  long  ago  that  you  forget  you 
had  any:  and  of  course  you're  ravenous  by  this 
time.     Aren't  you  ?  '     But  Eunice  was  silent. 

'  And  of  course  you  didn't  have  such  a  breakfast 
as  that,'  said  Miss  Ada:  while  Jane  dipped  a  hand- 
ful of  the  cresses  in  salt,  and  devoured  them  with 
great  relish. 

'  Mother  said  it  was  good,  because  God  sent  it,' 
said  Eunice. 

'  Well  ivaa  it — ? '  said  Jane,  pausing  with  her 
hand  full  of  the  green  cresses.     Eunice  hesitated. 

'  I  don't  love  God  as  mother  does,'  she  said,  and 
a  quiver  went  over  her  lips. 

For  the  first  time  now,  the  elderly  woman  at  the 
head  of  the  table  broke  silence. 

'  You  have  had  a  long  walk,  dear,'  she  said,  '  and 
now  you'll  have  another  long  walk  home.  Eat 
your  breakfast,  and  call  it  lunch.' 


1X2  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  Besides,  I  shan't  let  you  go  till  you  do, — and  I 
know  it  would  please  your  mother,'  added  Miss 
Jane. 

Privately,  Eunice  guessed  that  herself;  and  she 
was  very  hungry — and  the  beefsteak  smelled  so 
good.  0  if  she  could  only  take  it  home  ! — Howev- 
er— and  Eunice  bent  her  head,  and  put  her  hand 
over  her  eyes,  saying  softly  her  simple  prayer: 

'  0  Lord,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  goodness.  Bless 
it  to  make  me  good.     For  the  Lord  Jesus'  sake.' — 

How  Miss  Jane  did  eat  water  cresses  then !  Mrs. 
Cortland  cleared  her  throat,  Miss  Julia  stufied  her 
lace  handkerchief  into  her  mouth;  only  black  So- 
per  slowly  nodded  his  head,  and  under  his  breath 
added,  '  Amen.' 

If  Eunice  had  at  first  felt  shy  about  eating  her 
breakfast  under  so  many  strange  eyes,  she  soon 
forgot  everything  in  the  great  excellence  of  the 
viands.  For  the  child  had  a  healthy  ten-year-old 
appetite;  such  as  is  not  easily  silenced  upon  dry 
bread.  And  in  all  her  life  Eunice  had  never  tasted 
such  delicious  things.  The  steak  '  almost  cut  itself,' 
as  she  told  her  mother  afterwards;  the  eggs  were 
mistified  till  .she  could  hardly  believe  they  were 
eggs;  and  as  for  the  rolls,  Eunice  thought  she 
could  have  eaten  them  dry  and  alone  three  times  a 


CROSS  CORNERS.  113 

day,  with  the  greatest  ease.  And  here  they 
were  even  spread  with  fresh  butter! — Nothing 
of  all  this  wonder  and  pleasure,  however,  ap- 
peared; the  little  girl  eat  as  quietly  and  slowly 
as  if  she  had  been  munching  dry  bread  at 
home.  The  ladies,  watching  her,  noticed  the 
moderate  way  of  the  child,  the  delicate  hand- 
ling of  cup  and  knife  and  fork ;  and  saw  also 
that  the  little  hands  though  brown  were  clean, 
and  the  nails  carefully  trimmed.  It  was  a 
very  moderate  breakfast,  too,  that  the  child  eat; 
and  nothing  could  persuade  her  to  take  a  second 
roll. 

'  Do  you  know  how  to  read.  Midget  ? '  said  Miss 
Jane,  eyeing  her. 

*  Yes  ma'am.' 

'  How  to  write  ?  ' 

'  Yes  maam.' 

'  Who  taught  you  ? ' 

•  Mother.' 

'  Is  your  mother  a  school-mistress  ?  ' 

'  No  ma'am,  she  sews  all  day." 

'  Sews,  does  she  ?  Can  she  embroider  ?  work 
fancy  stitches,  you  know  ?  ' 

'  O  yes  ma'am  !  —  mother  can  do  the  most  beau- 
tlfvL  things,'    said  Eunice,  her  tongue  a  little  thaw- 


114  CA'OSS   CORNERS. 

ed  out  by  the  breakfast.     '  But  she  don't  ever  get 
'em  to  do  now:    she  binds  shoes.' 

'  Binds  shoes  ? '  said  Miss  Jane,  stretching  out 
her  dainty  foot, — '  for  pity's  sake,  are  shoes  bound  ? 
So  they  are,  I  declare.  Then  she's  binding  shoes 
all  this  time  ?  ' 

'No  ma'am,' said  Eunice,  'not  today;  because 
she's  hurt  her  finger.' 

'  Then  you  cooked  the  breakfast  ?  ' 

'  I  set  the  table,'  said  Eunice. 

'  And  cooked  ?  ' 

'  We  didn't  cook  anything  this  morning.' 

•  What  did  you  have  then?  said  Miss  Julia; 
'  cold  ham  and  apple  sauce  ? ' 

'  No  ma'am.' 

'  What  then  ?      But  Eunice  hesitated. 

'  It  was  nothmg  you  would  like,'  she  said. 

'  0  she's  afraid  of  making  us  envious  '     cried  Miss 
Ada.     'That  is  too  rich, — and  again  there  was  a 
shout  of  laughter  all  round  the  table.     Poor  Eu 
nice  flushed,  and  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

'  I  think  I  must  go,  if  you  please,  she  said,  slip- 
ping down  from  her  pile  of  cushions.  But  Miss 
Jane  took  hold  of  her  and  held  her  fast. 

'  No,  no,'  she  said,  you  can't  go  yet;  and  besides 
you  haven't  got  your  money.     Now  what  did  you 


CJvOSS  CO  RACERS.  115 

have  for  breakfast  ?  really  and  truly,  you  know. 
Here — whisper  it  to  me, — I'll  never  tell.' 

It  was  a  very  pretty  head  that  bent  down  to  Eu- 
nice, and  the  laughing  eyes  were  coaxing  and 
kindly,  if  they  were  a  little  reckless.  Eunice 
looked  at  them — then  answered  softly : 

*  Just  bread,  ma'am.' 

'  Just  bread  and  butter  and  coffee  ? — well,  that's 
not  so  bad.  If  they're  all  good.  I  take  that  myself 
sometimes,  at  first.' 

'  But  we  didn't  have  butter  and  coffee,'  said  Eu- 
nice: '  it  was  just  bread.' 

'  Dry  bread !  '  cried  Miss  Jane  throwing  up  her 
hands.  '  I  wonder  you're  alive,  child.  Here  do 
have  some  more  beefsteak.' 

'  No,  I  must  go,'  said  Eunice  eagerly, — '  mother 
will  want  me.  And  I've  had  enough,  thank  you 
ma'am.     May  I  have  my  basket,  please  ?  ' 

In  unwonted  silence.  Miss  Jane  emptied  the  bas- 
ket, pihng  the  fresh  green  cresses  in  a  blue  china 
dish.  She  could  not  doubt  the  child's  word, — 
every  look  and  tone  of  Eunice  spoke  simple  truth; 
but  all  the  same,  it  was  incredible. 

'  Where  are  my  frogs,  child  ?  '  Miss  Ada's  voice 
broke  in,  jarringly. 

'  I  can't  bring  any  frogs,'  said  Eunice,  tying  on 


IIQ  C/WSS   COA'NL'A'S. 

her  white  bonnet,  and  secretly  glad  over  the  safety 
of  her  speckled  friends. 

'  Why  not?  There  must  be  thousands  in  such  a 
country  place,  said  Miss  Ada.  '  Why  can't  you 
bring  thera  ? ' 

'  Mother  said  so.' 

'  Stuff !     Why  did  she  say  so  ? ' 

'  I  didn't  ask  her,  raa'am,'  said  Eunice,  not  feel- 
ing obliged  to  give  her  private  opinion  as  to  reasons. 

'  How  provoking !' said  the  young  lady;  while 
Miss  Jane,  watching  Eunice  keenly,  was  extremely 
amused. 

'  Well  you'll  bring  my  strawberries  tonight  ? ' 
she  said. 

'  No  ma'am,  tomorrow.  They  must  have  more 
sunshine  to  be  sweet,  mother  says.' 

'  What  a  wise  midget  it  is !  Tomorrow,  then. 
Those  you  brought  yesterday  did  me  ever  so  much 
good.  Don't  you  see  my  cheeks  have  grown  red- 
der already  ? ' 

Eunice  looked  up  into  the  laughing  face  (a  very 
pretty  face  it  was  too,  as  I  said)  and  presently  a 
smile  came  into  her  own  sober  eyes. 

'  Well   do  pay  her  for  them   and   let   her  go  ! 
said  Miss  Julia  impatiently.      Miss  Jane  took  out 
lnT  piir.se. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  II7 

'  Fifty  cents  for  berries  (there  was  a  full  quart 
child,  counting  all  I  eat  on  the  way  home)  and  twen- 
ty-five cents  for  cresses.' 

'  But  I  don't  tliink  the  cresses  ought  to  be  so 
much  as  that,'  said  Eunice, 

'  That's  what  I  should  pay  in  town,'  said  Miss 
Jane,  counting  out  her  silver;  '  and  these  are  a  hun- 
dred times  better.  Fifty  cents  and  twenty-five 
make  seventy-five.  Now  how  are  you  going  to 
carry  it  home,  Midget  ?  ' 

'  In  my  basket  T  suggested  Eunice,  out  of  breath 
at  the  very  idea  of  so  much  money. 

'Then  if  one  of  Ada's  frogs  jumped  at  you,  you'd 
tumble  down  and  spill  it.' 

Eunice  laughed. 

'  I  don't  jump  when  the  frogs  do,'  she  said. 

'  Stupid,  not  to  bring  your  purse,'  said  Miss  Julia. 

Eunice  flushed  but  said  nothing. 

'  Have  you  got  a  purse  of  your  own,  child  ? '  said 
Miss  Jane. 

'  No  ma'am.' 

'  And  the  big  family  purse  wouldn't  do.  See 
here — I'll  give  you  mine,'  said  the  young  lady 
pouring  its  whole  contents  into  her  lap.  '  You 
must  have  one,  because  you'll  be  coming  every 
day  for  money,  you  know.    There — '  and  Miss  Jane 


118  CJ^OSS  CORNERS. 

Blipped  three  bright  quarters  back  into  the  little 
blue  velvet  affair,  and  snapped  the  clasp.  '  That's 
safe  so  far.  This  is  for  you  to  keep  always  and  al- 
ways, till  it's  worn  out.  Why  how  pleased  the 
child  looks  ! '  she  cried,  delighted ;  for  Eunice  had 
coloured  high,  and  her  eyes  were  sparkling  like 
two  fireflies.  Never  had  she  even  touched  such  u 
beautiful  thing. 

'  Now  hide  it  away  in  your  pocket,  and  be  oil 
with  you.  And  see  here,  child ' — Miss  Jane  stooped 
down  and  put  her  face  almost  within  the  white  sun- 
bonnet  :  '  what  did  you  stop  and  hide  your  eyes  for, 
before  you  began  your  breakfast  ? '  she  whispered. 

'  1  was  just  asking  a  blessing;'  said  Eunice  sur- 
prised, but  speaking  in  the  same  low  tone.  '  Mo- 
ther always  does.' 

'  Over  the  dry  bread  ? ' 

'  0  yes,  ma'am ! ' 

The  gay  blue  eyes  looked  straight  into  the  young- 
er gray  ones  for  a  second, — then  Miss  Jane  drew 
back  her  head,  and  gave  the  little  bonnet  a  twitch 
to  set  it  straight. 

'  Run  away,'  she  said, — '  you're  too  queer  to  live.' 

'  Here  is  your  basket,  child,'  said  Mrs.  Cortland : 
and  Eunice  took  her  basket,  and  made  a  simple  lit- 
tle courtesy,  and  sped  away. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

This  breezy  morning,  so  bright  out  of  doors,  so 
gay  at  the  Cross  Corners,  had  been  grave  enough 
in  the  little  brown  house  which  Eunice  called  home. 
Grave,  that  is,  so  far  as  increasing  pain  could  dis- 
turb the  quiet  heart  which  rested  so  securely  on 
God.  Mrs.  Keith  would  have  tried  a  poultice — but 
there  was  neither  bread  nor  milk  in  the  house,  nor 
one  small  coin  to  buy  them ;  for  since  Eunice  went 
out  the  landlord  had  come  and  swept  away  her 
last  cent.  However,  he  was  paid  now  for  another 
month, — that  was  a  great  comfort;  but  the  very 
last  cent  only  just  did  it.  Then,  never  very  strong 
herself,  and  now  faint  with  the  weariness  of  pain, 
Mrs.  Keith  needed  strong  food — and  she  had  break- 
fasted on  dry  bread,  and  not  much  of  that.  Then, 
there  was  no  concealing  it,  her  finger  grew  worse 
every  moment.  And  it  was  one  of  the  important 
fingers, — she  could  by  no  means  sew  without  it. 

But  then,  if  she  did  not  sew,  how  could  she  find 

ai9) 


120  CJiOSS  CORNERS. 

even  dry  bread  for  Eunice  and  herself  ?  She  sat 
looking  wistfully  out  at  the  dancing  sunshine,  tlio 
keen  throbs  ni  her  linger  almost  forgotten  in  tin- 
anxious  pain  at  her  heart. 

Eunice  must  have  enough  to  eat;  so  must  she,  iw 
that  matter,  if  she  was  ever  to  get  strong  again  t . . 
work.  The  need,  the  pain,  the  difficulty,  seeme.i 
like  converging  prison  walls:  then  suddeidy  Mrs. 
Keith  remembering  Davy's  simple  conceit,  and 
smiling,  "  took  a  key  and  let  herself  out." 

"Your  Father  knoweth  that  ye  have  need  of 
such  things." — 

The  reaction  was  so  great  that  it  brought  (a  very 
rare  thing  for  Mrs.  Keith)  a  rush  of  tears.  But  in 
a  minute  she  had  cleared  tliem  away,  and  with 
closed  eyes  and  folded  hands  and  a  happy  smile  on 
her  lips,  she  leaned  her  head  back  and  was  present- 
ly asleep. 

So  Eunice  found  her;  and  having  fortunately 
peeped  through  tlie  window  on  her  way  to  the  door, 
came  in  silently,  and  bustled  about  as  softly  as  any 
mouse.  As  restlessly  too,  for  she  was  all  impa- 
tience to  tell  her  tale.  But  it  was  also  a  happy 
thing  (for  Mrs.  Keith's  nap)  tliat  just  when  impa- 
tience was  getting  too  hot  to  be  borne,  Einiice 
perceived  a  corner  of  white  j)aper  pokin;;-  out  of 


CJ^OSS  CORNERS.  121 

her  basket.  In  her  very  busy  state  of  thoughts, 
she  had  brought  the  basket  along,  without  think- 
ing of  it ;  but  now  as  she  took  it  up  again  the  basket 
felt  heavy:  and  swinging  the  cover  back,  Eunice 
would  have  fairly  cried  out,  had  not  surprise  kept 
her  still.  For  while  Miss  Jane  had  been  talking 
and  Eunice  eating  her  breakfast,  Mrs.  Cortland,  it 
seemed,  had  packed  the  little  basket  as  full  as  it 
could  hold.  But  with  what?  Eunice  pulled  up 
the  shielding  white  paper,  peered  in,  and  saw  a 
chicken  leg — then  drew  back,  setting  the  basket 
down  with  much  emphasis. 

'  I  don't  want  any  of  their  things, — '  she  said. 
'And  I  don't  believe  mother  will.  O  dear!  I'll 
just  have  to  lug  it  all  back  again.  I  wish  mother'd 
wake  up !  ' 

And  even  as  she  spoke,  a  great  twinge  of 
pain  shot  through  the  wounded  finger,  the  brief 
slumber  fled  away,  and  Mrs.  Keith  opened  her 
eyes. 

'  Mother,  you  look  so  pale ! '  cried  Eunice,  spring- 
ing to  her  arms.     '  Is  the  pain  very  bad  ! ' 

'  It  is  there,  yet.  How  long  you  have  been,  Eu- 
nice.' 

'  Yes,  mother,  because  they  just  made  me  eat 
some  of  their  breakfast,'  said  Eunice  lugubriously. 


122  c/;:oss  corners. 

'Did  they?  I  am  very  glad.  That  was  the  best 
thing  my  darling  could  have  after  her  walk.' 

'  Well  I  didn't  want  it,'  said  Eunice;  'though  it 
was  as  good  as  it  could  be,  and  I  was  very  hungry. 
And  they  had  0  such  wonderful  things !  But  I'm 
afraid  they've  put  some  of  'em  in  here,'  she  went 
on,  bringing  forward  her  basket.  'I  never  noticed 
it  was  heavy  till  I  got  home — I  was  taking  such 
care  of  my  purse.  And  I'm  to  keep  the  purse  for 
my  very  own,'  she  went  on  excitedly;  '  and  there's 
seventy-five  cents  in  it  ! ' 

'  Seventy-five  cents !  —  My  dear  little  bread-win- 
ner,' said  Mrs  Keith,  drawing  the  little  girl  back 
into  her  arms,  '  The  Lord  has  blessed  us  very  great- 
ly this  day  ! 

Eunice  returned  the  embrace  with  interest. 

'Then  you  wanted  it  very  much  ?  '  she  said,  draw- 
ing back  to  look  in  her  mother's  face,  but  still  keep- 
ing her  arms  around  her. 

'  Very  much.' 

'  Well  there's  loads  in  the  basket,  too,'  said  Eu- 
nice, '  but  1  guess  you  won't  want  ihat.  I  didn't 
know  it  was  there  till  1  got  home,  or  I  would  have 
emptied  it  out.' 

'  Emptied  what  out  ?  ' 

'  0 — things,  said  Eunice.     *  I  thought   I  saw   a 


CROSS  CORNERS.  123 

chicken — and  I  daresay  there  are  rolls.  And  I 
smelt  oranges.  Here  it  is  ' — and  she  brought  the 
basket  and  set  it  down  at  her  mother's  feet. 

'You  must  unpack,'    said  Mrs.    Keith  smiling: 
'  you  know  I  have  only  one  hand.' 
'  0  is  it  bad  yet  ?  '  said  Eunice. 
'  Pretty  bad.' 

'Well  I  don't  know  what's  here,  much,'  said 
Eunice,  lifting  her  basket  to  the  table;  'and  I 
didn't  know  there  was  anything,  till  I  got  home. 
You  see  Miss  Jane  was  talking  just  as  fast  as 
she  could  the  whole  time;  and  Miss  Ada  was 
talking  frogs.  And  then  I  was  eating  my  break- 
fast. 0  mother,  if  I  could  just  have  brought  it 
home  to  you ! ' 

'  You  seem  to  have  brought  my  share  at  least — ' 
said  Mrs.  Keith  smiling.  But  Eunice  bridled  and 
gave  her  head  a  little  toss. 

'  This  isn't  mine-^this  is  theirs,'  she  said.  '  Well — 
here  goes.  And  with  some  curiosity,  and  a  set  of 
the  head  that  was  still  rather  airy,  Eunice  swung 
the  cover  quite  off,  and  pulled  away  the  first  white 
paper. 

Yes,  there  lay  an  orange — no,  hvo.  Eunice  rais- 
ed her  eyebrows  as  she  laid  the  round  yellow  fruit 
upon  the  table. 


124  C/i:OSS  CORNEJiS. 

'  They  didn't  know  but  we  had  dozens  and  doz- 
ens of  our  own,'  she  said. 

'No,'  Mrs.  Keith  answered  quietly,  'but  the 
Lord  did. 

Eunice  paused  in  her  voyage  of  discovery. 

'  I  wish  you  wouldn't  always  say  that,  mother  ! 

'Why  not?  it  is  always  true.' 

'  Maybe — '  said  Eunice  with  a  shake  of  her 
head;  '  but  it  makes  me  feel  bad.  Now  what 
comes  next,  I  wonder  ?  Eggs ! — six  eggs  !  O 
mother ! — ' 

Mrs.  Keith's  eyes  closed  for  a  moment,  and  a  tre 
mour  swept  over  her  face.  Not  for  the  world 
would  she  have  had  her  child  know  her  own 
great  need  of  nourishing  food,  nor  how  even 
the  fate  of  the  sick  finger  might  depend  on  her 
getting  it.  If  it  were  so  ordered  that  she  must 
lose  the  finger,  Mrs.  Keith  had  not  a  word  to  say ; 
but  tliis  seemed  to  her  a  pledge  that  it  should  get 
well.  How  good  the  Lord  was  to  them  !  She 
looked  up  just  as  Eunice  laid  the  last  egg  upon  the 
table. 

•  Get  a  dish,  love,'  the  mother  said.  '  They 
might  roll  ofi'and  break.' 

'I  don't  think  it  would  matter  mucli,' Eunice 
!«aid  to  her.self :  '  onlv  it  would  make  a  muss,  and  I 


CROSS  CORNERS.  125 

should  have  to  clear  it  up.'  But  she  brought  the 
dish,  and  laid  the  eggs  in  carefully. 

'  Mother,'  she  began  then,  going  deeper  down 
into  the  basket,   '  I'm  afraid  there's  bread  here.' 

'  That  will  be  very  convenient,'  said  Mrs.  Keith 
quietly,  'for  then  we  can  have  dinner  at  once, 
without  your  going  out  again,  Eunice.  Let  us 
see.' 

Eunice  touched  the  next  white  papers  with  un- 
willing dainty  fingers,  and  took  out  from  under 
them  a  parcel  wrapped  in  a  fringed  napkin,  which 
held,  indeed,  some  of  those  very  rolls  from  the 
breakfast  table. 

'  And  under  that,  a  whole  half  a  roast  chicken  ! ' 
cried  Eunice,  as  she  pulled  off  another  paper. 
'Weill  do  say!' 

'  What  do  you  say  ? '  inquired  Mrs.  Keith.  '  1 
say:  "  Blessed  be  God  who  daily  loadeth  us  with 
benefits." ' 

'  Well  I  don't,'  said  Eunice.  '  And  I  just  wish 
he  hadn't, — that's  all.' 

'  Eunice,  Eunice  ! '  said  her  mother. 

'  Well  if  you  had  to  carry  'em  all  back,  I  guess 
you'd  say  so  too,'  said  the  little  girl,  too  hot  with 
her  own  tide  of  feeling  to  pay  much  heed  to  her 
mother's  words. 


126  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  And  as  you  have  only  to  help  eat  them,  I  should 
not  think  you  would.' 

Eunice  left  the  table  and  came  close  to  her  mother. 

'  You  won't  eat  them  ? '  she  said. 

'  Why  not  ? '  said  Mrs.  Keith,  smiling  some- 
what sorrowfully  as  she  pushed  back  the  brown 
hair  from  off  the  excited  little  face.  '  Eunice,  my 
child,  I  do  not  know  what  to  make  of  you.' 

'  We're  not  beggars  ! ' — said  Eunice,  her  breast 
heaving  with  an  unuttered  sob. 

'  Neither  have  we  begged.' 

'  Then  they  needn't  give  us  things,'  said  Eunice 
defiantly.     The  mother  sighed. 

'  Child,'  she  said,  '  you  are  making  hard  work 
for  yourself.  But  come,  we  will  have  dinner,  and 
then  you  shall  road  to  me ;  and  then  I  have  an  er- 
rand for  you.' 

Eunice  laid  all  the  things  back  in  the  basket 
with  joyful  haste,  and  then  ran  ofi"  to  wash  her 
hands  and  brush  her  hair  and  put  on  a  clean  apron. 
Then  she  covered  the  table  with  a  clean  cloth,  and 
set  out  very  exactly  the  two  j)lates,  the  salt  cellar, 
the  few  trifles  of  tabic  furniture  >vhich  they  pos- 
sessed. 

'  Now  it's  all  ready,'  she  said.  '  What  have  we 
got,  mother  ?' 


CJiOSS  CORNERS.  127 

'What  you  see,  child.' 

Eunice  looked  disappointed;  by  this  time  she 
was  getting  hungry  again. 

'I  thought — maybe — as  you  weren't  sewing — 
you'd  have  got  it  ready,'  she  said,  with  a  shade  of 
reproach  in  her  tone.  ^Irs.  Keith  said  nothing  of 
the  scarlet,  aching  finger,  which  made  much  doing 
of  anything  difficult ;  she  answered  gently : 

'You  know  there  was  no  money  in  the  house, 
love,  except  what  belonged  to  Mr.  Grab.' 

'  Well  you  might  have  taken  a  little  of  that,' 
said  Eunice. 

'  He  has  taken  it  all  himself 

'  0,  lies  been  here,  has  he  ?  '  said  Eunice.  '  I 
don't  wonder  your  finger  aches.  But  we've  got 
money  now,  mother.  What  shalll  get?  Just  bread 
and  tea  ?  You  might  have  a  beefsteak  noiv,'  said 
Eunice,  with  recollections  of  her  savoury  breakfast, 
and  limitless  ideas  as  to  the  power  of  seventy- 
five  cents, — the  first  money  she  had  ever  earned. 
She  began  tying  on  her  bonnet  again.  Mrs.  Keith 
looked  at  her,  thinking. 

'  Come  here,  love,'  she  said.  Then  wrapping  her 
arms  round  the  little  girl,  Mrs.  Keith  went  on : 

*  Listen,  Eunice.  You  have  earned  this  money; 
and  now  you  may  go  and  buy  whatever  you  think 


128  CROSS  CORXERS. 

you  would  like  for  dinner,  and  I  will  cook  it  lor 
you,  or  shew  you  how  to  cook  it;  but  1  myself"  shall 
oat  nothing  but  what  the  Lord  has  so  abundantly 
provided.' 

'  In  the  basket  ?  ' 

'  In  the  basket.' 

'  Not  beefsteak  ?  nor  tea  ? '  suggested  Eunice. 

'Not  a  mouthful.' 

'  But  mother — you  ivont  eat  those  things?  '  plead- 
ed Eunice. 

'  Indeed  yes:  very  thankfully.' 

'  Then  you'll  eat  mine  for  supper.' 

'No,  little  daughter.  Whatever  you  buy  while 
we  have  such  plenty  in  the  house,  will  be  for  your- 
self alone.  But  I  give  you  leave  to  buy  what  you 
please.' 

Eunice  wavered.  Of  course  her  mother  always 
told  the  exact  truth.  But  then  on  the  other  hand 
maybe  she  only  meant  today, — maybe  tomorrow 
would  be  different.  '  And  of  course  I  can  buy  it 
for  myself,  and  then  give  it  to  her,'  argued  the  lit- 
tle girl  ;  with  that  poor  reasoning  by  which  self- 
will  is  so  often  beguiled. 

'  I  guess  she'll  be  glad  enough  of  my  beefsteak 
for  breakfast,'  Eunice  thought  complacently.  She 
drew    her    bonnet    strings    tight,  then    hurriedly 


CROSS  COAWERS.  129 

opened  the  little  purse  and  counted  out  her  money. 
Three  new  quarters. 

'  I  don't  want  to  spend  much,'  she  said, — 'just  a 
little.  There,  I'll  take  this  quarter,  and  you  may 
have  the  other  two.  Isn't  my  purse  a  beauty  ? ' 
But  what  made  her  mother  look  at  her  so  ? 

'  Yes  dear,  it  is  very  pretty,'  Airs.  Keith  answer- 
ed. '  Now  go,  and  do  not  linger;  for  I  am  in  great 
want  of  ray  dinner.' 

Eunice  hurried  away,  full  of  importance  over 
her  purse,  her  money,  and  her  business ;  and  really 
made  good  speed,  and  was  back  very  soon:  the 
rocky  facts  of  the  case  covered  up  and  lost  sight 
of  in  her  high  tide  of  excitement. 

'  I  thought  we'd  keep  the  beefsteak  for  break- 
fast,' she  said,  laying  out  her  little  packages :  *  it's 
so  good  for  breakfast  ^  A  quarter  of  a  pound  of 
steak — that's  live  cents;  and  two  oranges,  two — 
that  makes  seven.  And  a  pint  of  milk,  four — 
that's  eleven.  And  six  rolls,  seventeen.  And 
three  eggs,  twenty.  And  then  I  got  a  dear  little 
loaf  of  gingerbread  for  the  other  five,'  said 
Eunice  with  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction.  '  I 
thought  we'd  have  the  eggs  for  dinner.'  She 
bustled  about,  bestowing  some  little  bundles  m 
the    cool    closet,    and    rustling   others    out    upon 


130  CROSS   CORXEKS. 

plates;  but  now  a  new  difficulty  struck  her, — the 
eggs  were  uncooked. 

'  0  motber,'  she  cried,  '  may  I  light  just  a/e?fl 
chips  to  boil  the  eggs  ?  ' 

'  Certainly,  dear,'  Mrs.  Keith  answered ;  and  sat 
watching  the  little  figure  as  it  flitted  about,  with 
sometimes  a  smile  but  oftenest  a  sigh  upon  her 
lips.  What  was  to  become  of  this  proud  little 
heart,  in  the  pitiless  rough-and-tumble  of  life? 
How  was  the  will  of  God  ever  to  be  sweet  to  this 
defiant  spirit ;  so  fond  of  its  own  way,  so  ready  to 
find  fault  with  his  arrangements  ?  When  the  fire 
was  lit,  and  Eunice  came  for  her  plate  of  eggs,  Mrs. 
Keith  was  watching  no  longer,  but  sat  with  her 
head  bowed  upon  her  hands. 

'  I'll  be  ready  in  a  minute,'  Eunice  called  from 
the  fireplace, —  '  or  at  least  in  three.  Now  don't 
speak  a  word,  mother,  'cause  I'm  counting.'  And 
again  the  mother  raised  her  head  to  look. 

It  was  the  prettiest  picture !  In  the  little  fire- 
place the  small  pile  of  chips,  now  burned  to  a 
bright  glow;  the  small  steaming  saucepan,  where 
the  white  eggs  were  rolling  about  in  the  hot 
water;  (Eunice  had  put  them  all  in,  saying,  '  Two 
for  mother  and  one  for  me');  and  in  front  the  little 
girl  herself 


/?OSS  CORNERS.  131 

"  With  head  up-raised,  and  look  intent," 

ag  she  checked  off  the  seconds  on  her  fingers; 
speaking  aloud  that  she  might  not  lose  her  count. 
Now  and  then  she  almost  laughed  —  then  forced 
herself  to  be  grave;  then  suddenly  spoke  the  last 
"  sixty  !  "  with  a  little  shout,  set  ofi"  her  saucepan, 
took  out  her  eggs,  and  bore  them  in  triumph  to  the 
table. 

Mrs.  Keith,  meanwhile,  had  left  her  seat,  and 
had  taken  from  the  despised  basket  a  small  piece 
of  chicken,  a  roll,  and  one  of  the  oranges;  placing 
them  in  exact  order  upon  the  table ;  and  now  sat 
waiting,  with  a  sore  heart  that  made  her  almost  for- 
get the  sharp  twinges  in  her  finger.  Ah,  it  was 
hard  to  give  her  darling  such  a  lesson  !  But  she 
roused  herself  as  Eunice  came  up,  and  spoke  with 
her  usual  cheerful  quiet.  If  there  was  a  word  or 
two  in  the  implored  blessing  that  Eunice  did  not 
quite  comprehend,  she  was  too  much  excited  to  pay 
much  heed.  Now  she  had  started  up  and  away 
again,  to  fetch  out  one  of  her  own  oranges,  setting 
it  by  her  mother's  plate  and  pushing  the  other 
orange  away.  Which  last,  indeed,  round  and  yel- 
low and  big,  did  still  greatly  overtop  and  look 
down  upon  the  poor  little  shrunken  intruder.  But 
to  that  Eunice  resolutely  shut  her  eyes. 


132  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  Now  mother,  here  are  two  eggs  for  jou,'  she 
said  eagerly.  'You  see,  I  had  two  breakfasts,  and 
you  didn't.'     Mrs.  Keith  looked  at  her. 

'  Love,'  she  said  tenderly,  '  did  you  think  I  did 
not  mean  what  I  said  ? ' 

'  What  ? '  said  Eunice  with  a  sudden  check.  '  O 
yes, — what  did  you  say  exactly,  mother  ?  But  1 
thought  you  meant  —  at  least  I  didn't  think — '  and 
the  little  girl  sat  back  and  gazed  at  her  mother  in 
silent  dismay.  The  mother's  face  was  very  sorrow- 
ful. 

'  I  said  I  should  eat  nothing  you  bought  while 
we  had  such  a  supply  in  the  house,  Eunice.' 

*  And  you  won't  eat  my  eggs  ? '  cried  Eunice, 
bursting  into  tears, — '  nor  my  beefsteak  ?  nor  my 
gingerbread  ? ' 

'  No.' 

The  passion  of  excitement  that  burned  in  the 
child's  cheeks  seemed  to  dry  up  her  tears  as  fast  as 
they  came. 

'  It's  dreadful ! '  she  cried.  '  O  mother,  I  never 
thought  you  were  cruel,  before  !  ' 

'  Come  here,  little  daughter,' — and  Mrs.  Keith 
drew  the  little  girl  into  her  arms.  '  Listen,  love, 
and  hush  !' — for  Eunice  was  now  sobbing  violently. 
'  You  wanted  to  throw  away  the  things  God  had 


CROSS  CORNERS.  133 

sent  us :  how  could  I  do  that,  unless  I  had  forgot- 
ten whose  child  I  am  ?  I  should  not  even  dare  do 
it,  Eunice :  and  I  would  not  for  all  the  world  find 
fault  with  his  providing.  I  cannot  go  back  from 
my  word,  little  daughter;  and  I  would  not  if  I 
could.     You  see  you  have  made  a  great  mistake! 

'  I  didn't  think  he  sent  'em,'  sobbed  Eunice.  '  It 
was  those  horrid  people.' 

'  Hush,  hush  !  After  dinner  you  shall  read  me  a 
story  that  will  help  you  to  understand  all  this. 
And  now,  dear,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  smoothing  back 
the  child's  hair  from  her  hot  face,  '  now,  Eunice, 
sit  down  and  eat  your  dinner.  I  am  very  tired  and 
faint  for  want  of  mine.  That  is  the  best  you  can 
do.' 

Eunice  roused  herself  at  once,  at  that,  dried  her 
eyes ;  and  though  with  still  a  tearless  sobbing  breath 
now  and  then,  went  round  to  her  place  at  the  ta- 
ble and  took  her  seat.  A  little  comforted  by  the 
promise  of  explanation,  very  eager  to  do  her  best 
even  at  this  late  hour,  she  took  one  of  her  own 
rolls  and  broke  it — then  dropped  the  pieces  on  her 
plate  and  watched  her  mother  take  a  mouthful  of 
chicken.  What  it  cost  Mrs.  Keith  to  sit  there  and 
eat,  watched  by  those  sorrowful  dear  eyes,  it  would 
be  hard  to  tell.     But  she  was  truly  in   o-reat  need 


]34  CROSS  CORNERS. 

of  food,  as  she  had  told  Eunice;  and  besides  her 
part  must  be  carried  out.  She  said  no  more  upon 
the  subject  then;  beginning  to  tell  Eunice  the  few 
trifling  things  tiiat  had  happened  that  morning: 
how  her  naughty  little  pussy  had  brought  in  a 
'  Flicker,'  quite  dead,  and  how  a  strange  carriage 
had  stopped  at  the  door,  and  someone  had  asked 
for  a  spray  of  the  white  roses  for  a  sick  lady. 
'  Seems  to  me  we  have  plenty  of  carriages,'  said 
Eunice,  rather  crossly.  'Did  they  fling  down 
another  quarter  for  them  ? ' 

'  No,  neither  one  nor  "  another," '  said  Mrs.  Keith 
smiling.  '  I  could  not  cut  the  branch  nicely  with 
one  hand,  so  I  had  to  let  the  gentleman  help  him- 
self.' 

'I  daresay  he  took  the  very  nicest  there  were,' 
said  Eunice.  '  If  Miss  Jane  could  see  'em  today, 
she'd  want  'em  every  one.' 

Somehow  the  cold  chicken  did  smell  very 
good !  Eunice  broke  off  another  bit  of  her  dry 
roll,  and  swallowed  it  witli  great  effort:  her  face 
was  very  cloudy.  Eat  one  of  those  three  eggs 
which  whe  had  boiled  with  such  delight?  'No, 
I  (jut'HS  not ! '  said  Eunice  to  herself  She  never 
wished  to  see  another  o^^  as  long  as  she  lived; 
and  as  for  the  gingerl)read,  the  very  .smell   of   it 


CROSS  CORNERS.  135 

made  her  sick.  Eunice  looked  round  at  this  point, 
to  make  sure  the  closet  door  was  tight  shut.  The 
beefsteak  might  go  to  pussy.  But  then,  she  re- 
flected, her  mother  would  not  let  her  waste  good 
food  in  that  way:  she  would  have  to  eat  it  herself, 
as  long  as  it  lasted.  And  Eunice  knew  well  how 
hungry  she  would  be  again  by  tea  time,  and  in  the 
morning.  She  could  neither  live  on  air  nor  on 
airs.  Slowly  her  eyes  filled  with  very  hot  drops. 
Well,  if  this  dry  roll  did  really  stick  in  her  throat 
and  choke  her — 

'  That  would  be  the  end  of  me,'  thought  Eunice. 
But  no, — well  she  knew  that  would  not  be  the  end : 
and  now  the  changing  colour  flitted  back  and 
forth  over  the  child's  face.  ]\lrs.  Keith,  watching 
her,  eating  her  own  dinner  with  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty, could  not  for  once  read  the  look. 

'  Mrs,  Crusty  shouldn't  ask  anything  for  her  rolls,' 
Eunice  broke  forth  again,  eyeing  the  crisp  feathery 
morsel  in  her  mother's  hand  which  had  come  from 
Cross  Corners.  '  They  are  as  dry  as  sawdust,  and 
as  hard  as  chips,  and  as  tough  as  my  old  basket. 
I  should  think  she'd  pay  anybody  to  take  'em 
away.     I  should.' 

Mrs.  Keith  could  scarcely  keep  back  a  smile. 

'  I    wonder  what  sort  of  bread  it  was  that  the 


136  C/iOSS  COHNERS. 

ravens  brought  Elijah  ? '  she  said.  *The  Bible  just 
tells  that  they  brought  him  "  bread  and  flesh  in 
the  morning,  and  bread  and  flesh  in  the  evening ;  " 
but  it  does  not  say  what  sort  it  was.' 

'  What  sort  of  birds  are  ravens  ? '  said  Eunice. 

'  Large  black  birds, — something  like  our  crows.' 

'  O  I  would  never  eat  anything  a  crow  brought 
me,'  said  Eunice  with  disgust. 

'  If  Elijah  had  said  that,  he  would  have  starved.' 

'  Well  mother !  ' —  said  Eunice.  '  You  won't 
think  I'm  very  naughty  to  say  it  ? ' 

'  I  hope  not.' 

'  Then  I  think  it's  very  queer  that  the  Lord  don't 
always  send  something  nice  to  bring  people 
things.' 

'  An  angel,  for  instance.' 

'  Well,  yes — '  said  Eunice.  '  There  are  plenty  of 
them.' 

'  Eunice,'  said  her  mother,  '  if  you  let  yourself 
say  'Why'  to  the  Lord's  arrangements,  you  will  be 
an  unhappy,  discontented  person  all  your  life. 

'  "  Faith  can  safely  trust  him, 
"  Come  wliat  may/' 

and  faith  is  at  rest.  Be  quite  sure,  child,  that  the 
Lord   never  sends   his    children  things  unfit    for 


CROSS  CORNEJiS.  137 

them  to  have,  nor  in  any  way  but  the  very  best. 
Now  clear  the  table,  dear,  and  we  will  have  our 
reading.'  But  the  two  oranges  were  left  un- 
touched. 

Eunice  obeyed  instantly,  and  in  outward  silence ; 
but  talking  much  to  herself  the  while. 

'  Put  'em  away ! — '  she  said  under  her  breath. 
'  But  I  can  never  eat  up  all  these  things.  Not  even 
if  I  wanted  to.  And  the  other  roll  will  take  the 
hatchet  to  break  it  by  tomorrow.  O  dear  !  I  wish 
we  had  a  pig  ! ' 

But  no  word  of  all  this  came  out,  nor  any  other 
words  indeed;  for  Mrs.  Keith,  refreshed  and 
strengthened,  laid  her  head  back,  and  even  once 
more  got  a  few  minutes  of  quiet  sleep.  But  when 
Eunice  having  finished  her  clearing  away,  came 
gaily  up  with  her  mother's  Bible  and  her  own  little 
stool,  Mrs.  Keith's  eyes  were  open  again,  and  she 
was  all  ready  for  the  reading.  Eunice  had  no  Bible 
of  her  own  ;  and  so  wlien  she  read  aloud  to  her  mo- 
ther, it  was  one  of  the  attendant  privileges  that  she 
should  read  from  her  mother's  Bible. 

'  Where  shall  it  be,  mother  ? '  she  asked  in 
eager  expectancy. 

'  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  Elijah 
today,    Eunice:    suppose  you  read  the  first  seven 


138  CROSS  CORNERS. 

verses  of  the  seventeenth  chapter  of  1  Kings.'    So 
Eunice  read  : 

"  It  shall  be  that  thou  shalt  drink  of  the  brook; 
and  I  have  commanded  the  ravens  to  feed  thee 
there."  1  Kings  17.  5. 

Eunice  paused  some  time  over  this  verse. 

'Well  I  do  think  it  was  very  queer,'  she  said  at 
last.  '  And  if  I  had  been  Elijah  I  shouldn't  have 
liked  it  one  bit.' 

'  Why  not  ?       He   had   bread   and   meat   and 
water.' 

'  I  shouldn't  like  to  eat  what  the  birds  brought,' 
said  Eunice  with  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

'  Now  I  should,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  'if  they  were 
God's  messengers.' 

'  Just  think  ! '  said  Eunice  with  some  heat, — 
'there  you'd  be  wanting  your  breakfast,  and  up 
would  come  a  parcel  of  ugly  black  birds ;  cawing 
and  screaming  and  carrying  things  in  their 
mouths!'  And  Eunice  gave  another  expressive 
token  of  disapproval. 

'And  just  think,'  said  Mrs.  Keith  smiling  at  her, 
'  that  you  were  waiting,  waiting  for  your  dinner, 
and  in  all  earth  and  sky  there  was  no  sign  of  how 
you  could  get  it.  Then  suddenly  come  soft  wings, 
speeding,  hurrying  along;  and  at  your  feet  God's 


CROSS  CORNEHS.  139 

messengers  lay  what  he  himself  has  chosen  for  that 
day's  supply.' 

Eunice   leaned  back,  looking  perplexed. 

'  But  you  make  things  look  so  different ! '  she 
said. 

'  Nay  love,  that  is  the  way  things  are :  it  is  you 
who  make  them  look  different.' 

'  Well  if  you'd  just  seen  those  people — and  heard 
'em — '  said  Eunice,  '  you'd  never  guess  the  Lord 
had  anything  to  do  with  it  at  all.  Nor  with  them, 
either.' 

•  No,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  '  maybe  not.  But  now, 
dear,  read  James  1.  17.'     Eunice  read: 

"  Every  good  gift,  and  ever}''  perfect  gift,  is  from 
above,  and  cometh  down  from  the  Father  of 
lights." 

Eunice  studied  this  verse,  then  sat  looking  wist- 
fully over  towards  the  little  basket  which  had  held 
the  despised  dainties. 

'  I  wouldn't  mind  so  much  taking  it  from  Himy 
she  said. 

'  No  matter  by  whom  the  Lord  sent  it  ?  Now 
find  Ps.  104.  and  read  the  27th  and  28th  verses.' 

"  These  all  wait  upon  thee,  that  thou  mayest 
give  them  their  meat  in  due  season.  That  thou 
givest  them,  they  gather." 


140  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  There  it  is,  love,'  said  Mrs.  Keith :  '  that  is  the 
way  we  should  feel,  and  the  way  we  should  do. 
Imagine  a  row  of  little  birds  sitting  disconsolate 
on  the  fence,  because  I  and  not  you  had  thrown 
out  their  crumb  breakfast ! ' 

Eunice  laughed,  but  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

'  They  wouldn't  feel  so  long,'  she  said.  '  They'd 
like  you  best  pretty  soon.  Mother,  I'm  sorry  I  was 
so  foolish :  do  you  think  the  Lord  was  displeased  ? ' 

'  Tell  him  so,  and  he  will  forgive,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith.  '  But  it  could  not  please  hira  to  have  his 
little  child  murmur  at  his  providing.' 

'  And  act  as  if  she  wasn't  his  child,'  said  Eunice 
with  a  long  sigh.  '  I  see.  0  mother,  must  I  eat  all 
those  other  things  up,  for  a  punishment?' 

'  You  sliall  do  with  them  whatever  you  yourself 
judge  to  be  right,'  Mrs.  Keith  said,  after  a  minute's 
consideration.  '  Only  they  must  not  be  thrown 
away.' 

'  No,  of  course  not,'  said  Eunice.  '  And  I  do 
suppose  I  ought  to  eat  'em,  for  being  so  silly. 
But  mother — '  and  the  little  girl  threw  back  her 
head  and  looked  up  into  the  quiet  face, — '  now  that's 
all  settled,  and  I've  stopped  being  a  goose,  I  hope, — 
Avon't  you  just  tell  me  ?  Do  you  quite  like  taking 
those  people's  things  ?  ' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  141 

'  Yes,  quite,'  her  mother  answered  steadily  and 
smiling  at  her,  '  since  our  Father  in  heaven  makes 
them  his  messengers.  But  if  you  mean  to  ask 
whether  1  have  ever  been  as  foolish  as  you 
were, — then,  Eunice,  I  shall  have  to  answer  'yes' 
again.' 

Eunice  clapped  her  hands. 

'Then  I  don't  mind,'  she  said.  '  O  if  ^/om  were 
ever  foolish,  mother,  who  knows  but  some  day  Til 
be  wise  ?  ' 

'  Who  knows  ?  Now  love,  put  on  your  sunbon- 
net,  and  go  over  to  widow  Kip's,  and  take  her  the 
biggest  orange  we've  got.' 

'  0  yes  ! '  cried  Eunice  jumping  up.  '  I'd  like  to 
go,  ever  so  much.     But  mother — ' 

'Well?' 

'  The  biggest  orange  is  yours.  Please  let  me  take 
one  of  mine  instead  !  ' 

'No  indeed.  Yours  are  yours,  and  mine  are 
mine.  Eun  away  now,  and  come  straight  oack, 
unless  Mrs.  Kip  has  anything  for  you  to  do.' 

'  But  mother, — '  Eunice  hesitated, —  '  then  you 
won't  have  but  one.  And  I'm  sure  yours  are  the 
sweetest.' 

'  Now  that  is  not  worthy  of  my  little  daughter,' 
said  Mrs.  Keith  gravely. 


142  CROSS  CORXERS. 

'  I  mean,  I  want  you  to  have  the  best,'  said  Eu- 
nice, the  tears  starting  again. 

'  I  know,  love.  But  this  is  my  affair.  Poor  Mrs. 
Kip  has  had  so  many  lines  drawn  in  her  face  by 
pain,  I  should  be  sorry  indeed  to  make  her  twist 
it  up  over  a  sour  orange.' 

'  Well  may  I  give  one  of  mine  to  Davy  ? '  said 
Eunice.     '  He  won't  mind.' 

And  with  this  permission  Eunice  set  forth:  the 
sweet  orange  in  a  little,  little  basket;  the  (supposed) 
sour  one  hid  snugly  away  in  her  pocket. 

'  I  wonder  if  ]\Irs.  Kip  likes  cresses  ?  '  she 
thought.  '  Miss  Thing  didn't  say  I  must  bring 
her  all  of  tliem.  And  I  couldn't  anyway,  and  she 
couldn't  eat  'em,'  But  remembering  the  muffin, 
Eunice  shook  her  head,  and  laughed.  Tlien  she 
ran  quick  across  to  a  near  bend  of  the  brook,  and 
gathered  a  pretty  handful  of  the  fresh  green  things, 
and  shook  them  into  her  basket  until  the  yellow 
orange  was  all  covered  up. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Mrs.  Kip  rented  a  little  room  at  one  end  of  the 
bakery,  and  by  ceaseless  toil  contrived  to  pay 
the  rent.  Disease  had  made  her  too  lame  for  act- 
ive work, — it  was  only  by  the  hardest  effort  that 
she  coTiId  move  about  at  all;  but  her  fingers  were 
untiring.  Knit,  knit,  knit,  from  morning  to  night, 
and  often  in  the  night,  when  she  was  wakeful 
with  pain.  For  Mrs.  Kip's  needles  were  quite  in- 
dependent of  eyesight  or  lamplight.  Gray  stock- 
ings, and  baby  socks,  and  men's  socks;  with  now 
and  then  a  cap  or  a  comforter  or  a  pair  of  mit- 
tens,— such  was  the  ceaseless  round.  Once  in  a 
great  while  a  woollen  jacket  or  petticoat  came  in — 
at  Christmas  time  perhaps — to  vary  things.  Iler 
face  was  seamed,  her  fingers  were  crooked,  her 
whole  frame  was  twisted  and  unshapely;  her  tone 
and  speech  were  not  always  of  the  sweetest:  yet 
Mrs.  Kip  bore  daily  more  than  most  people,  and  bore 

it  patiently  too.    This  afternoon  when  Eunice  came 

ri43) 


144  CROSS  CORNERS. 

in,  she  was  at  work  on  a  cotton  stocking;  the  blue 
and  white  ball  jumping  and  floundering  about  in  a 
little  basket,  as  Mrs.  Kip's  fingers  flew  over  the 
stitches. 

'  Who  is  it  ?  little  Keith  ?'  said  Mrs.  Kip,  as  Eunice 
first  knocked,  and  then  softly  opened  the  door. 
'  Well  it's  a  wonder.  Some  day  when  folks  stay 
away  so  long,  they  won't  find  me  when  they  come.' 

'  Then  you're  getting  better,'  said  Eunice.  '  I'm 
so  glad.     It  '11  do  you  good  to  go  out,  Mrs.  Kip." 

The  woman  laughed,  a  short  harsh  laugh. 

'  I'll  he  better  — 'fore  I  go,'  she  said.  'They  won't 
find  me,  'cause  I'll  be  gone.  Gone  fiu-ther  than 
they'd  like  to  go  to  find  me.'  And  as  her  fingers 
flew  on,  and  the  ball  jumped  and  twitched,  Mrs. 
Kip  broke  forth  and  sang, 

'  "  Up  from  the  sighiuy  and  the  weeping 
'  "  I  shall  be  soon." — 

'  0  me  !      I  guess  it  'II  feel  good ! ' 

The  voice  was  harsh  still,  and  yet  not  unmusical ; 
intense  longing  earnestness  giving  it  both  power 
and  pathos.  The  one  human  companionship  the 
lonely  woman  had  was  her  own  voice ;  and  she  some- 
times sang  to  herself  by  the  hour.  Now  she  broke 
off  suddenly. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  145 

'  What  did  you  come  for,  little  Keith  ?  '  she  said. 

♦  Please,'  said  Eunice,  (there  was  something 
weird  in  the  room  and  the  woman  that  always 
startled  her)  '  mother  sent  me.' 

'  Why  didn't  she  come  herself  ?  ' 

'  She's  always  so  busy,'  said  Eunice.  *  And  to- 
day she's  got  a  sore  finger.' 

'  She  needn't  walk  on  her  hands,'  said  Mrs.  Kip. 
'  What's  the  matter  with  it  ? ' 

She  pricked  it.  And  it's  turned  so  red,  and  all 
swelled  up.  And  it  makes  her  feel  sick,'  added 
Eunice  with  a  touch  of  championship. 

'  Felon,'  said  Mrs.  Kip  shortly.  '  Yes,  I  shouldn't 
wonder.  0  she'll  have  a  time  of  it  before  she's 
done      Lose  her  finger,  most  likely.' 

'  No  she  won't  either ! '  cried  Eunice.  '  How  can- 
you  say  such  things?  She  hasn't  sent  for  the 
doctor.' 

'Doctors  aint  much  count,'  said  Mrs.  Kip.  'But 
what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  if  the  Lord  cuts 
itoflT?' 

Eunice  stood  looking  at  her,  absolutely  speech- 
less.    Could  such  a  thing  really  be. 

'  He  won't !  ' —  she  faltered. 

'Don't  know,'  said  Mrs.  Kip:  '  he  might.     He's 

took  and  knotted  me  all  up,   1    know   that.     But 

ID 


146  CROSS  CORNERS. 

then  your  mother  is  better  n  I  was.'     And  again 
she  broke  forth  and  sang. 

"  I  was  a  wandering  sheep, 

"  I  did  not  love  the  fold, 
"  I  did  not  love  my  Shepherd's  voice, 

"  I  would  not  be  controlled ; 

"  I  was  a  wayward  child, 

"  I  did  not  love  my  home, 
"  I  did  not  love  my  Father's  voice, 

"  I  would  not  he  controlled." 

'  There,'  she  said  when  the  verse  was  done, — 
'  what  do  you  think  of  that,  child  ?  A  wild  crea- 
ture that  never  stayed  still  two  seconds,  set  down 
and  tied  down  in  a  chair  like  this.  Shews  how  much 
the  doctors  know.  '  Twas  just  about  the  last  dose 
any  one  of  'era  would  have  thought  of,  ministers 
and  all, — and  'twas  the  only  thing  that  cured  me.' 
She  sighed  wearily ;  passed  her  hand  over  her  face 
for  a  moment,  and  Eunice  could  see  her  lips  move. 

For  Eunice  herself,  she  felt  so  utterly  bewilder- 
ed and  awe-stricken,  that  she  set  her  basket  on  the 
floor,  and  stood  gazing  at  Mrs.  Kip  with  folded 
hands. 

'What  did  you  come  for,  little  Keith ? '  was  again 
the  abrupt  question.  '  Your  mother  didn't  send 
you  all  this  way  to  hear  me  grumble,  I  suppose  ?  ' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  147 

Eunice  caught  her  breath,  and  took  up  her  bas- 
ket again. 

'  Mother  had  two  oranges  sent  her,  and  she  sent 
you  one.' 

'  Gospel  doing — '  said  Mrs.  Kip :  '  "  he  that  hath 
two  coats,  let  him  impart  to  him  that  hath  none." 
Well,  let's  see  what  this  coat  amounts  to.  It  can't 
help  being  a  change  from  biscuit  and  salt  pork.' 

More  bewildered  than  ever,  Eunice  gave  the  little 
basket  into  Mrs.  Kip's  poor  hands.  Mrs.  Kip  lifted 
the  cover. 

'  Queer  oranges,'  she  said,  surveying  the  water 
cresses.  They've  turned  green,  I  suppose,  since 
my  day.' 

'  0  I  forgot .  cried  Eunice.  '  /  put  those  in, 
Mrs.  I^p,  because  I  thought  maybe  you'd  like  'em. 
Mother  does.' 

'  Never  did  set  much  store  by  green  sass,'  said 
Mrs.  Kip,  taking  up  a  sprig  however  and  begin- 
ning to  munch  it.  '  But  they  taste  fresh.  Well 
that  is  an  orange  !  If  they  had  such  things  up  in 
heaven,  I  should  think  this  one  must  have  come 
straight  down,  instead  of  round  about.  Wherever 
did  you  get  it,  little  Keith  ?  ' 

'  Mother  sent  it.' 

'  Off  her  own  trees,  I  suppose.'  said  Mrs.   Kip 


148  CROSS  CORAA'A'S. 

with  a  sharp  look.  However,  that's  no  business  o' 
mine.  I  know  how  it  came  to  me,  first  if  not  last.' 
She  sat  weighing  the  yellow  fniit  in  her  hand, 
turning  it  round,  smelling  its  aromatic  perfume, — 
then  began  to  sing  again. 

"  The  birds  without  barn 

"  Or  storehouse  are  fed, — 
"  Like  them  let  us  learn 

''  To  trust  for  our  bread. 

"  His  saints  what  is  fitting 

'*  Shall  ne'er  be  denied, 
"  So  long  as  'tis  written  : 

"  '  The  Lord  Av ill  jirovide.  '  " 

'  Now  I  never  should  have  guessed,'  she  went  on 
musingly,  '  that  it  was  '  fitting  '  that  I  should  eat 
an  orange  like  tliat.  I  don't  look  like  it — not  one 
bit, — and  yet  the  Lord  sent  it  to  me.' 

'  O,  do  you  know  that,  too  ? '  said  Eunice,  catch- 
ing hold  at  last  of  words  she  could  follow. 

'  Do  I  know  what  ? ' 

'  Why  about  everything  coming  from  our  Father 
which  is  in  heaven,'  said  Eunice. 

'  Do  I  know  tliat  ?  '  repeated  Mrs,  Kip  slowly. 
'  And  how  on  earth,  child,  should  I  live  and  sit  here 
year  in  and  year  out,  if  I  didnt  know  it  ? '  She 
looked  into  Eunice's  wondering  eyes,  then  laughed 
her  short  laugh. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  149 

'  "  When  I  was  a  child,  I  thought  as  a  child,"  '  she 
said.  '  Don't  meddle  with  grown-up  things,  little 
Keith.  Run  away  homeland  tell  your  mother  that's 
the  biggest  orange  I  eve7'  saw,  and  the  first  one 
I've  seen  for  five  years,  and  the  only  one  I've  had  a 
chance  of  tasting  for  ten.  That  '11  be  thanks 
enough  for  a  soul  like  her.' 

So  Eunice  picked  up  her  empty  basket  and  tripped 
away  again,  but  not  towards  home  quite  yet.  Back 
into  the  village  street,  then  on  and  on  till  she  came 
to  the  shoemaker's  garden.  And  there  sure  enough 
was  David  at  work. 

'  O  Davy ! '  called  Eunice  through  the  palings, 
'  are  you  most  through  ?  ' 

'  Not  by  two  hours,  good,'  said  David  with  a 
glance  at  the  sun.     How  do  you  do,  small  child  ? ' 

'  O  I'm  well,'  said  Eunice.  '  Only  I  feel 
queer.  Because  I've  been  to  see  Mrs.  Kip,  you 
know.' 

'  Come  to  talk  to  me  about  her  ? '  questioned 
David. 

'  No,  I  didn't  come  to  talk,  this  time,  Davy.' 

'  What  then  ? ' 

'  0 — business  :  I  wanted  to  come,'  said  the  little 
girl,  softly  slipping  her  orange  into  the  pocket  of 
Da\nd's  coat  which  hung  on  the  fence. 


150  CJ?OSS  CORNEJ^S. 

'  "  I  wanted  to  come  "  is  pleasure — not  business,' 
quoth  David. 

'Well  so  it  was  pleasure, — and  business  too,' 
said  Eunice,  executing  a  very  informal  little  dance 
on  tiie  tips  of  her  toes.  '  DavA',  what  do  jou  do 
when  you  find  things?' 

'  Wonder  whose  they  are,  most  like,'  said  David. 

'  Suppose  you  have  to  keep  'em  ?' 

'  That  don't  happen  very  often  to  me,'  said  Da- 
vid.    '  I  can  generally  find  the  right  owners.' 

'  But  if  you  had  to  keep  'em,  Davy  ?' 

'  Then  I  should  know  the  Lord  had  sent  them 
straight  to  me.' 

'  They  mightn't  be  good,'  suggested  Eunice. 

^  Good  to  me, — and  good  for  me, — if  he  sent  'em,' 
said  David.  '  What  liave  you  found  lately,  small 
child?     I  tliomjlit  you  came  to  talk,  after  all.' 

'  O  but  I  didn't,  really,'  said  Eunice,  '  and  I'm 
going  right  home.  Davy,  do  you  think  there'll  be 
more  strawberries  ripe  tomorrow  ?' 

'  Hardly,  where  tlicy  were  well  picked  yester- 
day. The  sun's  been  partly  in  a  cloud.  Maybe 
there  might  be  in  some  places.  I'll  run  round  and 
let  you  know.  Mr.  Timothy's  apt  to  have  'em  ripe 
in  his  field,  if  anybody  does ' 

'And  won't  it  trou1)le  vou?' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  151 

♦  Not  a  bit; 

'  Well  then  you  are  the  nicest  boy  that  ever  was,' 
said  Eunice,  'just  as  I  always  said.  Goodnight, 
Davy,' — and  with  a  secret  pat  to  the  orange,  as 
if  exhorting  it  to  be  as  sweet  as  it  could,  she 
went  oflf. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Eunice  worried  through  another  roll  for  her  sup- 
per ;  thinking  to  herself  tliat  if"  the  third  went  on 
drying  at  the  rate  the  second  had  done,  she  should 
have  a  hard  time  of  it  for  breakfast.  But  dry  rolls, 
and  puzzles,  and  mistakes,  were  soon  left  far  hv- 
hind  ;  and  the  tired  little  girl  slept  a  sleep  that 
had  no  alloy. 

Not  so  her  mother.  She  lay  down  indeed  ;  but 
the  hurt  finger  was  so  much  the  worse  for  it,  th;;t 
she  presently  sat  up  again,  and  took  by  snatches 
what  sleep  she  could  get,  so.  Thinking  betwoiMi 
whiles  of  the  day's  work,  so  completely  cut  off;  of 
the  day's  supply,  so  unexpectedly  sent  in :  most  of 
all,  of  her  rosy-cheeked  darling  asleep  at  her  side. 
How  much  the  little  one  had  to  learn  :  how  many 
hard  lessons  it  might  take  to  train  that  impulsive 
young  heart,  and  bridle  the  impetuous  tongue  ! 
But  "  it  is  good  for  a  man  that  he  bear  the  yoke  in 

his  youth  ;"  and  Mrs.  Keith  bowed  her  head  to  the 
(152) 


CROSS  CORNERS.  I53 

Lord's  dealing,  as  in  every  way  wiser,  kinder,  surer, 
than  her  own  human  plans  could  be.  "  Your  Father 
knoweth  :"  there  was  not  an  inch  of  the  life  road  but 
was  marked  and  fenced  and  arranged  for  Eunice, 
as  for  her.  If  but  her  darling  would  heed  the 
tokens!  '  "Teach  her  thy  way,  0  Lord!'" — the 
yearning,  longing,  prayer  for  the  time  made  bodily 
pain  forgotten. 

It  was  well  for  Mrs.  Keith  that  she  had  had 
something  more  heartening  than  dry  bread  to  eat 
the  day  before  ;  for  suffering,  and  wakefulness, 
and  prayers,  do  all  of  them  try  the  strength.  To- 
wards morning  she  fell  deeply  asleep,  from  sheer 
exhaustion  ;  but  even  so,  was  up  long  before  Eu- 
nice opened  her  eyes  ;  and  softly  stepping  about 
the  little  kitchen,  had  taken  a  pail  to  go  for  water, 
when  David  met  her  at  the  door.  Of  course  he 
carried  off  the  pail  and  brought  the  water  ;  and 
found  the  broom  and  swept  out  the  kitchen  too 
before  Mrs.  Keith  knew  what  he  was  about.  Then 
he  talked  over  the  orange  in  his  coat  pocket,  and 
Mrs.  Keith  told  him  its  history ;  thinking  Eunice 
would  much  rather  not  tell  him  herself.  David 
laughed  and  shook  his  head,  but  his  eyes  shone, 
too.  Then  he  brought  a  great  basket  of  chips, 
left  a  message  for  Eunice,  and  went  his  way. 


154  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  '•  It  is  your  Father's  good  pleasure  to  give  you 
the  kingdom,"  Mrs.  Keith,'  David  said  as  he  went. 
'  And  since  he  don't  do  it  yet  awhile, — denies 
himself,  so  to  speak,  as  well  as  us, — there  must  be 
some  splendid  good  reason.' 

Mrs.  Keith  finished  her  simple  preparations 
for  breakfast,  laid  another  big  chip  on  the  fire, 
and  then  sitting  down  by  the  little  stand  she 
opened  her  Bible.  First  at  the  verse  which  David 
had  quoted,  with  its  tender  preamble,  "  Fear  not, 
little  flock."  But  then  she  turned  back  to  the 
grand  old  prophecy  -which  saw  the  wonders  of  the 
promise  already  made  good. 

"The  time  came  that  the  saints  possessed  the 
kingdom." — Daniel.   7.  22. 

There  they  lay,  the  two  golden  links,  bind- 
ing the  toilsome,  cloudy  days  of  'Now,'  to  the 
glorious  sunbright  day  of  'Then.'  It  was  only 
to  be  a  saint,  and  follow  on:  that  was  all  ; 
for  her,  and  for  Eunice,  and  for  David.  How 
patient  the  Lord  was,  with  his  restless,  impa- 
tient children  !  giving  no  harsher  rebuke  than 
this: 

"  It  was  said  to  them  tli;it  they  should  rest  yet 
for  a  little  season." — Rev.  6.  11. 

When  at  last  Eunice,  under  pressure  of  a  golden 


CROSS  CORNERS.  155 

sunbeam,  opened  her  eyes,  she  heard  her  mother 
softly  singing  to  herself: 

*  "  Jesus,  still  lead  on, 

"  Till  onr  rest  be  won. 
"  And  although  the  way  be  cheerless, 
"  We  will  follow,  calm  and  fearless. 

"  Lead  us  by  thy  hand, 

"To  our  Fatherland." ' 

Sweet,  glad,  the  notes  were;  and  yet  somehow 
they  gave  Eunice  a  little  prick;  and  something 
rose  in  her  throat  as  she  jumped  up  and  began  to 
dress  herself. 

'  I  wish  mother  wouldn't  sing  such  sighaway 
tunes  ! '  she  thought.  '  We're  going  on  just  as  nicely 
as  can  be  ;  and  I  daresay  her  finger'll  be  well  in  a 
few  days.  Mrs.  Kip  don't  know  everything.  O 
dear  !  —  what  shall  I  ever  do  with  that  beefsteak  ! 
I  suppose  it's  just  as  tough  as  anything  ever  was : 
everything  I  got  seems  to  be  lead.  Oranges  sour 
(I  guess)  and  rolls  hard,  I  know.  There  now, — 
that's  another  slow  tune.  Well  I  shall  just  ask 
her  not. — ' 

And  hastily  giving  the  last  touches  to  hair  and 
hands,  Eunice  presently  dashed  out  into  the  little 
kitchen,  with, 

'  Mother,  whv  do  you  always  sing  such  things  ? 


156  CROSS  CORNEHS. 

'  Good  morning,  love,'  Mrs,  Keith  answered, 
opening  her  arms  to  the  little  girl.  '  Such  things 
as  what,  Eunice  ?  hymns  ?  ' 

'  Xo,  not  hymns  exactly,'  replied  Eunice,  '  but 
such  slow  ones.  Why  don't  you  sing :  "  Joy  to  the 
the  world "  ? '  And  Eunice  drew  back  a  little,  and 
looked  in  her  mother's  pale  face.  Mrs.  Keith 
smiled. 

'  I  do  sing  it  in  my  heart,  all  the  day  long,'  she 
said.  '  If  I  did  not  remember  that  "  the  Lord  is 
come,"  how  could  lever  sing  "  Jesus  still  lead  on"? 
But  you  shall  have  livelier  tunes  in  future,  Eu- 
nice. Now  let  us  make  haste  and  have  breakfast, 
love.  David  has  been  here,  and  says  there  are  ripe 
strawberries  in  Mr.  Timothy's  meadow;  and  Mr. 
Timothy  has  given  you  leave  to  come  there  and 
pick  your  basket  full.' 

'  0  isn't  he  good  ! '  said  Eunice.  '  But  I  daresay 
Davj'  made  him.  I  guess  I  shan't  want  anything 
but  this  roll,'  she  went  on,  setting  her  purchase 
on  the  table,  and  giving  it  a  very  contemptuous 
glance.  '  By  the  time  I've  eaten  this,  I  shall  be 
tired  enough  to  stop.     How  is  yours,  mother  ? ' 

'  Excellent.' 

'  Well,  I'm  glnd,'  said  Eunice  with  a  little  sigh. 
'  And   you've  got  an   ^Q^,   and   I've   got   an   QQS. 


en  OSS  CORNEJ^S.  I57 

But  oh  dear ! ' — Eunice  stopped  short  in  the  work 
of  taking  the  shell  off  her  Qg^.  '  Mother — it  don't 
look  a  bit  like  an  egg  inside  ! ' 

'  What  then  ? ' 

'  It  looks  —  exactly  —  like  —  a  chicken  ! '  cried 
Eunice;  cautiously  picking  off  bits  of  shell,  and 
then  dropping  the  whole  thing  on  her  plate.  She 
sat  back  gazing  at  her  mother.  It  took  all  ^Irs. 
Keith's  sympathy  to  keep  back  a  laugh. 

'  Then  somebody  has  lost  more  than  you  have 
gained,'  she  said.  '  But  it  is  not  the  first  time  a 
chicken  has  been  in  an  egg,  Eunice.' 

'  It's  the  first  time  one  was  ever  boiled  for  break- 
fast, I  hope,'  said  Eunice  severely.  '  Well  that 
thing  may  go  into  the  slop  pail.  This  is  a  brown 
chicken :  I  suppose  there's  a  white  one  in  the 
other.     I'll  just  chuck  'em  both  in.' 

'  Better  examine  first,'  the  mother  said  with  her 
gentle  smile.     '  The  other  may  be  good.' 

'  Nobody'U  ever  know,'  said  Eunice  as  she  jump- 
ed up  and  ran  to  the  closet.  '  I  guess  you  won't 
catch  me  finding  out*  But  Mrs.  Keith  held  out 
her  hand. 

'  Give  it  to  me,'  she  said.  '  My  little  daughter, 
you  must  learn  to  do  the  right  thing,  even  when 
it  is  disagreeable.' 


;158  CROSS  CORiVEKS. 

'  It  was  hard  enough  to  eat  'em,  even  if  they'd 
been  good,'  said  Eunice,  watching  as  her  mother 
broke  the  shell. 

'  This  e^^  is  good,'  said  Mrs.  Keith. 

'  But  you  won't  make  me  eat  it  ? '  cried  Eunice 
in  dismay. 

'  No  love :  you  may  do  as  you  like  about  that. 
But  then  you  must  find  some  other  good  way  to 
dispose  of  it,  Eunice :  1  will  not  have  you  throw  it 
away.' 

Eunice  drew  a  long  sigh,  and  went  on  munch- 
ing her  roll. 

'  I  suppose  this  was  baked  about  Christmas,'  she 
said.  '  It's  as  hard — as  hard —  And  I  dare  say  the 
milk's  been  skimmed  at  least  three  times  over. 
It's  as  blue  as  my  apron;  and  most  sour,  besides.' 

'  Eunice,  love,'  said  her  mother,  '  you  must  not 
grumble  over  your  breakfast.' 

*  But  oh  mother ! '  cried  Eunice,  '  God  didn't  give 
me  this:  I  got  it  for  myself  I  guess  that's  the 
reason  it  tastes  so  bad  ! ' —  And  dropping  the  bit 
of  roll,  Eunice  pushed  her  plate  away  and  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears. 

The  motiicr's  eyes  filled. 

Ah,  these  sharp  lessons,  that  must  be  learned, 
because  our  self-will   will  have  it  so!  —  learned  for 


CROSS  CORXERS.  I59 

oneself,  and  not  at  second  hand.  But  Mrs.  Keith 
said  nothing  at  first;  then  quietly  put  aside  the 
dry  roll,  and  laid  on  the  child's  plate  the  remaining 
one  from  Cross  Corners,  and  also  one  of  the  fresh 
white  eggs  that  had  come  with  it. 

'  You  cannot  go  to  picK  strawberries  on  a  break- 
fast of  tears,'  she  said  cheerfully.  '  Now  I  want 
you  to  eat  these,  and  we  will  use  up  the  other 
things  another  time.' 

Eunice  refused  and  exclaimed,  and  by  no  means 
wanted  to  do  it,  but  her  mother  was  firm ;  and  the 
good  breakfast  soon  put  all  tears  to  flight.  She 
talked  eagerly  about  the  coming  work  of  the  day, 
finished  her  last  drop  of  blue  milk  without  a  com- 
ment; and  then  flew  round  the  kitchen  like  a  sprite, 
washing  up  and  putting  away.  Then  tied  on  her 
little  white  bonnet,  bugged  her  mother  after  a 
breathless  fashion,  caught  up  her  basket,  and  was 
oil. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  strawberries  in  Mr.  Timothy's  field  proved 
to  be  very  fine.  They  had  hnng  their  heads  there 
among  the  grass  and  clover;  drinking  in  the  dew, 
mellowing  in  the  snn,  taking  their  full  time  to 
grow;  and  slowly  turning  from  green  to  pink  and 
from  pink  to  red,  until  they  were  ripe  and  sweet  all 
through.  They  stood  so  thick  in  some  places,  that 
Eunice  found  out  that  even  licr  small  foot  must  be 
careful  where  it  trod. 

There  were  other  things  to  guard,  too.  A  chip- 
ping bird's  nest,  down  on  the  very  ground  among 
the  leaves,  and  lull  of  tlni  daintiest  small  eggs. 
Then  the  great  rod  heads  of  clover,  about  whicli 
the  honey  bees  hummed  and  sailed.  The  very 
green  leaves  of  the  field  were  so  pretty,  that  Eunice 
could  not  bear  to  crush  them.  Overhead  the  fJune 
sky  spread  its  ineftahlu  blue;  tlie  June  breeze  blew 
softly;  the  summer  sun  was  none  too  hot.  Eunice 
breathed  one  sigh  after  another  of   full    content. 


CA'OSS  CORNERS.  161 

The  world  was  so  pleasant !  It  was  rather  nice, 
after  all,  to  pick  berries  and  earn,  money, — only 
not  to  spend  it  like  a  goose. 

'  Yes,  a  goose  ! '  said  the  little  girl  emphatically, 
rising  up  on  her  knees  and  nodding  her  head  at 
herself.  *  But  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  Davy 
means  by  the  first  lessons  being  easy.  I  think  my 
first  was  a  very  hard  one.  '  Let's  see  —  which  was 
the  first  ? '  Eunice  took  off  her  sunbonnet  and 
fanned  her  hot  cheeks. 

'  It  wasn't  eating  the  rolls — because  that  came 
last  of  all.  Then  before  that,  mother  wouldn't  eat 
my  eggs — Ugh ! '  Eunice  gave  a  little  shudder  at 
the  recollection.  '  Eggs,  indeed  ! '  she  said.  '  And 
I  don't  like  such  very  young  chickens,  myself. 
But  before  that  ?  Well,  I  had  to  take  all  those 
things  out  and  put  'em  away:  I'm  sure  that  was  a 
lesson,  and  a  pretty  big  one  too.  I  don't  see  what 
Davy  meant.' 

Eunice  sat  back  amid  the  clover,  thinking  as 
hard  as  she  knew  how. 

'  I  don't — see — what  Davy  meant,'  she  repeated 

slowly.     Then  suddenly  cried  out:    '  O  yes,    I  do, 

O  yes,  I  do !    Tlmi  was  the  first  of  all,  when  they 

threw  down  the  quarter  and  I  would  not  pick  it 

up.     What  a  wise  boy  Davy  is  !     He  told  me   I'd 
11 


162  CROSS  CORNERS. 

had  a  lesson.  And  just  because  I  didn't  learn  my 
letters  that  day,  then  next  time  I  had  a  whole 
word  to  spell,  and  didn't  know  how.' 

Here  Eunice  di'ew  a  very  long  sigh  (for  such  a 
little  girl)  and  bent  down  again  among  the  straw- 
berry vines  ;  thoughtfully  gathering  their  crimson 
treasures,  and  dropping  them  into  her  basket. 

'  I  don't  think  I  like  this  sort  of  learning  to 
read,'  she  went  on  to  herself:  '  not  a  bit.  And  I 
s'pose  I'll  have  to  do  it,  just  the  same  as  if  I  did. 
Mother  likes  it.  And  Davy.  0,  but  they've  learn- 
ed. I  didn't  like  t'other  spelling,  when  I  began  : 
only  mother  would  have  it.  And  now  I  can  read 
such  beautiful  things  !  There's  my  Anna  Ross,  and 
Rose  and  Emily,  and  everything  in  the  Bible.  I 
wonder  if  Goa  will  give  me  pretty  things  of  an- 
other sort  to  read,  too,  after  a  while?'  thought 
Eunice,  with  a  strange  sweet  stir  in  her  heart. 
'  Such  tilings  as  mother's  reading,  when  she  looks 
just  like  an  angel.'  She  sat  back  again  among  the 
clover,  laughing  out. 

'  O  what  a  goose  I  am  ! '  she  cried.  '  I  don't 
know  what  angels  look  like, — only  I  always  think 
they  must  look  like  mother.  There,  now  my  bas- 
ket is  full.' 

Eunice  got  up  and  shook  her  short  dress  mto 


CROSS  CORNERS.  163 

order,  tied  on  her  sunbonnet  and  pulled  out  the 
bows  neatly;  and  then  went  coasting  along  the 
edge  of  the  field  to  gather  blackberry  leaves  to  lay 
over  her  basket.  Then  she  opened  the  gate  and 
went  slowly  through,  closing  the  gate  again  with 
a  leisurely  manner,  as  if  that  were  pleasanter 
work  than  what  must  come  after.  And  truth  to 
say,  Eunice  did  not  enjoy  this  second  going  to 
Cross  Corners,  much  better  than  she  had  done  the 
first.  What  should  she  say  about  the  gift  of  nice 
things  she  had  carried  home  so  unthinkingly? 
She  must  speak  of  them,  for  here  were  the  two 
napkins  to  take  back;  and  besides,  her  mother  had 
sent  a  pretty  message  of  thanks  which  she  could 
not  fail  to  deliver.  Eunice  walked  slowly  along, 
slower  and  slower  as  the  cottage  came  in  sight; 
thinking  busily  over  these  hard  questions,  and 
very  much  hoping  to  find  nobody  at  home.  But 
then  she  might  not  leave  her  basket  with  the  serv- 
ants, and  if  she  did  not  leave  her  basket  she  would 
not  get  her  money :  so  altogether  it  was  quite  a 
complication. 

The  house  seemed  very  quiet.  No  breakfast  ta- 
ble spread  under  the  trees,  no  chatter  of  gay 
voices,  no  stir  anywhere — except  about  the  white 
window  curtains  as  they  waved  softly  to  and  fro, 


164  CJ?OSS   CORNERS. 

and  dark-hued  Soper  who  was  brushiug  down  the 
steps.     Eunice  went  softly  up  to  him. 

'  Please,'  she  said,  '  may  I  see  the  ladies  ?  Good 
morning.' 

Soper  turned  with  a  broad  smile  of  greeting, 
plainly  recollecting  Eunice  quite  well. 

'  Hope  de  chile's  had  a  good  mornin','  he  said, — 
'  rather  a  late  part  of  de  day  now.  But  de  ladies 
is  all  gone  out,  honey,  'cept  Miss  Jane — ^and  she's 
powerful  bad  with  her  head.' 

'  0 — then  1  can't  see  her ! '  said  Eunice. 

'  'Spec'  not,  honey.  Said  she  wouldn't  see  de 
king  and  all  de  royal  fam'ly.'     Eunice  hesitated. 

'Here's  two  napkins,'  she  said,  'and  mother's 
thanks.  You  might  take  them.  Do  you  think 
perhaps  Miss  Jane  could  see  my  basket  ? ' 

'  Strawberries  ? '  queried  Soper.  Eunice  nodded. 
Soper  pondered  in  his  turn. 

'  Don'  know,  that's  a  fact,'  he  said.  '  Miss  Jane's 
iieadaches  is  various.  Jes'  you  wait  a  minute  till 
de  brush  get  down  to  de  foot  of  de  steps,  and  I'll 
see  and  quire.* 

Soper's  brush  began  again  at  the  double  quick, 
and  Eunice  stood  still,  watching  him.     Then   sud 
denly  a  voice  called  lightly  out  of  an  open  window 
over  the  hall  door: 


CROSS  COHNERS.  155 

'  Soper — what  on  earth  are  you  talking  to  your- 
self so  about?' 

Soper  favored  Eunice  with  a  satisfied  and  satis- 
factory nod  of  his  head. 

'  'Bout  de  fruits  of  de  earth,  and  de  people  of  de 
earth,  for  general,  Miss  Jane,'  he  answered  respect- 
fully; standing  up  and  standing  back  so  as  to 
command  the  window.  '  In  particular,  'bout  de 
little  girl  and  her  basket.' 

'  What  little  girl  ?    My  strawberry  child  ? ' 

'Yes  madam.' 

Instantly  Miss  Jane's  head  (somewhat  confused 
without  if  not  within)  came  into  view. 

'  Have  you  brought  my  strawberries  ? '  she 
cried. 

'Yes  ma'am,'  said  Eunice,  with  her  little  courte- 
sey. 

'  Bring  them  right  up  here,  this  minute,'  com- 
manded Miss  Jane.  '  Don't  you  see  I'm  sick  abed 
for  the  want  of  them  ?  Well  what's  the  child  wait- 
ing for?' 

'  Please — I  don't  know  the  way,'  said  Eunice. 

'  Good  gracious ! '  said  Miss  Jane:  'don't  know 
the  way  upstairs !  Fetch  her  up,  Soper,  can't  you  ? 
— and  a  plate,  and  the  white  sugar,  and  a  fork — 
and  a  napkin.'     And  Miss  Jane's  head  popped  m 


166  CROSS  CORXERS. 

again — then  instantly  out  to  add — 'And  a  finger 
bowl ! ' 

Soper  laid  down  his  brush,  and  murmuring  to 
himself  with  a  slow  shake  of  the  head,  '  Various — 
very  various,'  lie  led  the  way  into  the  house,  fol- 
lowed by  the  wondering  Eunice.  She  watched 
■with  all  her  eyes  while  he  arranged  the  little  tray, 
and  then  tripped  upstairs  after  him ;  feeling  sure 
that  she  must  be  in  fairyland  now,  beyond  a 
doubt.  For  it  was  all  so  unlike  home — unlike  any 
part  of  the  work-a-day  world,  with  which  Eunice 
was  familiar.  Soft  mats  at  every  door,  and  polish- 
ed door  knobs;  and  before  her  Soper's  dark  figure, 
resplendent  in  snow  white  apron  and  yellow  slip- 
pers. And  when  he  paused  on  the  landing,  and 
threw  open  Miss  Jane's  door,  Eunice  fairly  held 
her  breath  and  was  afraid  to  enter. 

The  windows  were  partly  shaded  with  pink  and 
white  curtains,  a  great  soft  rug  lay  on  the  floor; 
and  chairs  of  every  variety  of  shape  and  ease  stood 
*  everywhere ' —  as  Eunice  described  it  afterwards. 
Then  there  was  a  table  quite  littered  up  with  pretty 
things:  pens,  paper,  desk,  books,  letters,  paper- 
weights, and  a  host  of  trifles  with  unknown  names. 
Another  table  by  the  ■wall  held  cut  glass  bottles, 
red  and  blue  boxes,  hand  glasses,  brushes,  a  white 


CHOSS  CORN-ERS.  167 

aud  pink  pincushion,  and  a  large  toilet  glass.  Be- 
tween these  two,  but  nearer  the  windows,  was  a  dain- 
ty couch,  covered  with  some  sort  of  crimson  stuff, 
on  which  at  present  reclined  Miss  Jane,  in  a  sky 
blue  silken  wrapper.  A  soft  white  sofa  blanket  was 
half  over  her,  half  tossed  off;  the  blue  wrapper  fell 
away  over  the  folds  of  an  embroidered  petticoat ; 
from  under  which  white  folds  one  little  foot  held 
out  a  blue  slipper,  poised  on  the  ends  of  its  toes. 

Following  Soper,  walking  in  a  dream,  Eunice 
w^ent  two  steps  into  the  room,  then  again  stopped 
short  with  a  start  of  astonishment.  For  there  fac- 
ing her  as  she  turned,  was  a  great  mirror,  set  in  a 
frame.  That  was  what  it  was.  But  what  Eunice 
saw,  was  her  own  little  self:  a  mite  of  a  figure  in 
brown  calico  and  white  cotton  sunbonnet,  with 
little  brown  hands  holding  a  basket,  and  very 
flushed  cheeks  beneath  the  bonnet.  Such  an  odd 
little  figure  with  all  those  silken  surroundings !  — 
Eunice  did  not  know  herself  in  the  least;  in  fact 
she  did  not  know  that  lookingglasses  of  such  size 
could  be  made ;  and  her  first  thought  was  of  another 
little  girl  and  another  basket  of  berries,  which  had 
both  together  got  there  before  her. 

'  She's  got  a  frock  like  mine,  too,'  thought  Eunice : 
*  there's  the  verv  same  little  red  rosebuds.     And 


168  CROSS  CORNERS. 

her  siinbonnet's  made  just  like  mine, — and  it's  my 
basket !  —     I  wonder  !  —  ' 

And  now  she  stepped  suddenly  up  to  the  little 
figure,  coming  towards  her  in  its  turn :  then  stood 
still  again,  with  an  air  of  such  bewildered  amaze- 
ment that  Miss  Jane  shouted  with  laughter. 

'  Well,  Midget,'  she  said,  '  how  do  you  like  your- 
self on  the  whole? — now  you've  had  a  good  look.' 
Eunice  started  and  came  forward,  blushing 
deeply. 

•  1  didn't  know  it  was  myself,'  she  said.  '  I  didn't 
know  lookingglasses  could  be  so  big.' 

'  Or  little  girls  so  little. — Well  what  do  you 
think  of  yourself,  any  how  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  think  much  of  myself,'  said  Eunice 
quaintly.  '  Not  to-day.  But  here  are  the  two 
little  napkins,  ma'am ;  and  mother  said  she  enjoy- 
ed— No,  that  wasn't  it,'  said  Eunice,  knitting  her 
brow.s.  '  She  said — she  said  you  were  very  kind, 
and  the  things  you  sent  have  done  her  good.' 

'  Well  then  she  must  have  enjoyed  them,'  said 
Miss  Jane.     '  Didn't  she  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  think  she  did,'  said  Eunice  unwillingly. 

'  Why  not  ?    Weren't  they  good?' 

'I  guess  they  were,' said  Eunice, — 'but  then,  I 
wasn't.' 


CROSS   CORNERS.  169 

'O,  I  begin  to  understand,'  said  Miss  Jane. 
*Your  mother  takes  you  with  her  dinner,  like  a 
sort  of  sweet  pickles ;  and  yesterda;y  they  turned 
into  hot  pickles, — hey  ?  Give  me  the  strawberries, 
child-  Don't  you  see  I'm  dying  for  them  ?'  And 
Miss  Jane  opened  the  basket,  and  began  eating  at 
once. 

'  Take  off  your  sunbonnet,'  she  said. 

'  No,  ma'am,  I  must  go,'  said  Eunice.  Miss  Jane 
raised  herself  up,  and  catching  off  the  little  white 
bonnet,  tossed  it  over  on  a  chair  behind  the  couch. 

'  There,'  she  said :  '  now  be  quiet.  Sit  down  on 
that  foot  cushion,  Midget,  for  I've  got  forty  ques- 
tions to  ask  you.  And  first  ring  my  bell  there, — 
the  red  cord,  child,  pull  that.  Don't  you  know 
what  a  bell  rope  is  ? ' 

'  No  ma'am, — I  never  did  before,'  said  Eunice, 
giving  the  pretty  silken  cord  a  gentle  pull. 

'  Harder,  child !  Not  a  creature  in  this  house 
will  stir  for  such  a  tinkle  as  that.  They'll  think 
it's  the  mice.  Pull  two  or  three  times,  till  you  can 
hear  it.' 

Eunice  pulled  and  pulled,  afraid  of  pulling  too 
hard,  till  sure  enough  the  bell  downstairs  gave 
out  an  unmistakable  peal.  She  turned  round  with 
her  eyes  sparkling. 


170  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  How  pretty  that  is  ! '  she  said. 

'  Don't  you  have  bells  at  your  house  ? '  said  Miss 
Jaue,  eyeing  her  between  strawberries. 

'No  ma'am.  There's  nobody  to  ring  for,'  said 
Eunice. 

'  True,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  What  a  philosopher  it 
is !  Come  here,  Midget,  and  sit  down.  How  did 
you  like  your  dinner  yesterday  when  you  got 
home  ? ' 

Eunice  reddened. 

'  I  didn't  like  it  at  all,'  she  said. 

'  What  ?' quoth  Miss  Jane,  knitting  her  brows. 
'  Didn't  like  it  at  all  ?     What  does  that  mean  ?' 

' It  means — that'  said  Eunice. 
'  Succinct  and  clear,'  said  Miss  Jane.     '  WJiy  didn't 
you  like  it  ?  ' 

'  Because  it  wasn't  good.  And  because  /wasn't,* 
said  Eunice  honestly. 

'  Well  now  see  here,'  said  Miss  Jane  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye ;  '  I've  no  objection  to  your 
being  as  bad  as  you  please,  but  I  won't  have  you 
spoil  my  rolls  and  oranges.  What  did  you  do  to 
them  on  the  way  home  ?  They  were  ail  right 
when  they  left  here.' 

'But  then  I  was  all  wrong,'  said  Eunice,  with 
her  oM  fashioned  sigh. 


CA'OSS  CORXEKS.  171 

'  And  so  you  turned  'em  sour,  hey  ?  '  said  Miss 
Jane. 

'  No,  ma'am.     Mother  didn't  say  so.' 

'  Did  she  like  them  ?  ' 

'  Yes  ma'am.' 

'And  you  didn't.  That  needs  explanation,'  said 
Miss  Jane,  putting  her  feet  to  the  Hoor  and  pull- 
ing Eunice — bench  and  all — up  to  the  side  of  the 
couch,  with  extraordinary  energy  for  a  young  lady 
with  so  bad  a  headache.  '  Now,  jMidget,  you're 
to  sit  there  till  you've  told  me  the  whole  story. 
I'm  not  a  person  to  be  fooled  with.'  And  Miss 
Jane  shook  her  head  at  Eunice,  and  put  on  her 
very  gloomiest  face. 

Eunice  glanced  up  at  her. 

'  I  can't  sit  here,'  she  said.     '  I  must  go,  ma'am.' 

'Very  well,'  said  Miss  Jane,  eating  strawberries 
at  a  furious  rate, — '  you  shall  go  as  soon  as  I  hear 
the  story.     Till  I  do  you  sit  there.     So  begin.' 

Thus  fairly  brought  to  bay,  Eunice  spoke. 
.  '  I  didn't  eat  any  of  your  things  for  dinner,'  she 
said;  '  and  what  I  did  eat  ivasnt  good.' 

'  You  hadn't  any  of  '  ray  things'  to  eat,'  corrected 
Miss  Jane.  'After  I  had  given  them  to  you  they 
were  your  own.     So  why  didn't  you  eat  them  ? ' 

'  I  didn't  want  to — '  said  Eunice, — and  the  small 


172  CROSS  CORNERS. 

head  gave  a  slight  airy  gesture  that  was  a  revela- 
tion to  Miss  Jane. 

'  So,  so  I '  she  said.  '  Is  that  the  state  of  the  case. 
Why  didn't  you  want  to?' 

'Because,'  —  said  Eunice  colouring.  'And  I 
didn't  want  mother  to,  but  she  would.  She  said 
God  sent  it, — and  she  likes  everything  he  sends.' 

'  And  you  don't,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  Well  I  think 
you're  the  silliest  little  girl  —  and  have  got  the 
wisest  mother — of  all  the  little  girls  I  know.  Now 
how  can  you  be  so  silly,  with  such  a  wise 
mother  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice  humbly.  '  I 
was  trying  to  find  out  just  now  in  the  strawberry 
bed.  And  I  guess  it  must  have  been  because  I 
didn't  learn  the  first  lesson.  Davy  said  if  I  shirked 
that,  the  second  would  be  hard.' 

'  Always  is,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  What  was  the 
first  lesson,  pray  ? ' 

Eunice  coloured  again,  and  hung  her  head. 

'It  was  when  you  threw  down  the  quarter' — 
she  said.  '  And  I  was  angry.  And  I  wouldn't  ever 
have  picked  it  up,  only  then  mother  wouKl  have 
(lone  it.'  Eunice  did  not  raise  her  eyes  after  this 
last  avowal,  but  sat  studying  the  figures  in  the 
wonderful  mat.     And  Miss  Jane  studied  her:  eat- 


CHOSS  COJiNEHS.  173 

ing  strawberries  the  while,  but  rather  slowly  and 
meditatively. 

'  Who  is  Davy  ?  '  she  asked  suddenly. 

'  O,  Davy  is  the  very  best  boy  in  all  the  world  ! ' 
said  Eunice  brightening  up.  '  He  knows  most 
everything,  I  think,  and  he's  just  as  nice  as  he  can 
be.' 

'  Must  be — if  he's  the  best  boy  in  the  world, 
said  Miss  Jane,  slowly  dividing  a  big  strawberry 
with  her  white  teeth.  But  that's  only  what. —  Who 
is  he,  child  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  know,'  said  Eunice, — '  he's  just  Davy. 
He's  a  big  boy,  ma'am ;  and  his  father  and  mother 
died  a  great,  great  while  ago, — and  I  guess  he 
never  had  anybody  but  God  to  take  care  of  him. 
He  digs,  and  goes  errands,  and  helps  people  make 
hay.  And  he  knows  the  Bible  all  through,  I 
think.  And  he  rvants  to  be  a  minister' — added  the 
little  girl,  dropping  her  voice  as  if  this  last  Lit  of 
news  were  a  state  secret. 

'  Good  gracious ! '  said  Miss  Jane.  '  Does  he 
live  in  your  house,  for  pity's  sake  ?  ' 

'  0  no,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice,  '  I  wish  he  did.  He 
lives  at  Mrs.  Crusty's.  But  he  works  every- 
where.' 

'  Must  be  a  busy  boy,'  said  Miss  Jane.     '  I  guess 


174  CA'OSS  CORNERS. 

I'll  get  him  to  work  for  me.  Well,  go  on  with 
your  story,  Midget :  I've  got  to  hear  every  word. 
What  did  you  eat  for  dinner  instead  of  cold 
chicken  ? ' 

Thus  urged,  and  feeling  moreover  a  little  more 
at  her  ease, — and  with  her  tongue  fairly  set  going, 
Eunice  gave  the  full  history  of  yesterday's  dinner, 
and  then  of  this  mornings  breakfast  as  well.  And 
Miss  Jane  listened  with  such  an  interested  face  as 
«lrew  the  little  talker  on  from  point  to  point, 
though  she  could  by  no  means  read  its  changes 
of  expression.  But  when  Eunice  came  to  her  own 
unfortunate  experience  in  eggs,  Miss  Jane  pushed 
aside  the  strawberry  basket,  and  put  her  little  lace 
handkerchief  to  her  face,  and  laughed, — laughed 
as  Eunice  thought  she  had  never  seen  anybody  do 
ill  all  her  life;  and  until  the  tears  came  and  ran 
down  her  cheeks,  so  that  the  little  handkerchief 
was  really  useful. 

'  0  Midget,  Midget ! '  she  cried—'  do  stop  !  If  I 
die  of  laughing,  you'll  go  to  jail,  you  know.' 

Eunice  did  not  quite  see  the  connection  between 
the  two  things ;  nor  indeed  between  her  story  and 
the  fun ; — but  she  was  quite  ready  to  stop : — so  she 
sat  silently  looking  on,  while  Miss  Jane  wiped  her 
eyes  with  her  lace  handkerchief. 


CHOSS  CORNERS.  175 

'  It  is  the  very  richest  thing  that  ever  I  heard  ! ' 
said  that  young  lady  with  another  outburst.  '  Such 
a  farce  !  Such  a  tempest  in  a  teapot !  And  so  your 
mother  could  eat  my  rolls,  hey,  without  having 
them  stick  in  her  throat?' 

'  Please,'  said  Eunice,  '  I  don't  think  mother 
thought  about  you  at  all.' 

'  Flattering,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  How  did  she 
suppose  they  got  there,  I  should  like  to  know  ? ' 

'  She  thought  God  sent  them.' 

'  H'm — '  said  Miss  Jane  with  a  peculiar  express- 
ion :   '  what  made  her  think  that? ' 

*  She  says  he  sends  everything.' 
'  Your  bad  eggs  too,  I  suppose.' 

'  O  no,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice,  '  I  got  those  for 
myself.' 

'  Nice  distinctions,'  quoth  Miss  Jane.  '  I  should 
like  to  know  how  you  find  all  that  out.' 

'  Why  it's  in  the  Bible,'  said  Eunice.  '  I  don't 
remember  the  chapter,  but  I  could  find  it.'  And 
she  looked  about  the  room  for  that  strong  box  of 
wisdom  which  at  home  was  always  in  sight.  There 
was  everything  else  on  those  little  tables,  —  was 
there  no  Bible  there  ? 

*  I  could  find  it  in  two  minutes,'  the  little  girl  re- 
peated, with  another  exploring  look. 


176  CA'OSS  COA'A'£A'S. 

'  You  needn't  liunt  round  for  mine,'  said  Miss 
Jane,  the  peculiar  expression  coming  over  her  face 

again.     '  1  never   lend  my  Bible  to  anybody not 

even  for  two  minutes.  You  can  bring  your  own 
the  next  time  you  come,  and  shew  me  in  that.' 

But  Eunice  shook  her  head. 

'  It's  too  big  to  carry  so  far,  with  the  basket,' 
she  said:  '  it's  mother's  big  one.  So — big,  I  guess 
it  is.    I  haven't  got  any  other.' 

'  No  Bible  of  your  own  ?  '  said  Miss  Jane  gravely, 
with  a  lift  of  her  eyebrows.      '  I  am  surprised  ! ' 

Eunice  looked  at  her,  with  a  puzzled  face. 

'  I  always  read  with  mother,'  she  said,  '  so  it's 
just  as  nice.  Nicer  J  think.  O  I  think  Davy 
would  lend  me  his !     His  is  small.' 

'Does  Davy  have  a  Bible  too  ?  ' 

'  O  yes,  ma'am  !  He  carries  it  in  his  pocket  all 
the  time.  Davy  couldn't  live  without  the  Bible. 
He  says  it's  his  storehouse.  And  sometimes  it's  his 
keybasket,' she  added  laughing.  Miss  Jane  settled 
herself  a  little  on  the  couch,  resting  her  cheek  on 
her  hand. 

'  Go  on,  Midget,'  she  said.  '  I  had  no  idea  un- 
known tongues  were  so  entertaining.  Why  does 
he  call  it  a  keybasket  ? ' 

'O  that's  whore   he  gets  his  keys,'  said  Eunice  : 


C/:OSS  COA'N-ERS.  177 

'  when  he's  in  a  hard  place  and  can't  get  out.  Then 
he  takes  something  in  the  Bible.  lie  says  it's  just 
like  the  way  Peter  got  out :  the  angel  opened  two 
or  three  doors,  and  then  the  last  one  opened  of 
itself.' 

'  Now  Midget,'  said  Miss  Jane  severely,  '  you  are 
getting  things  mixed.  How  could  a  book  be  like 
an  angel,  pray  ?     That's  just  clear  nonsense.' 

'  O  not  the  book !'  said  Eunice  eagerly,  '  but 
the  things  in  it;  the  promises,  you  know.  Davy 
says  an  angel's  just  a  messenger, — and  so  he  thinks 
a  promise  is  a  messenger  too,  I  'spose.' 

'  A  messenger ! '  repeated  Miss  Jane. 

'Yes  ma'am.  Something  God  sends  with  a 
message.' 

Miss  Jane  leaned  her  head  back,  looking  away 
with  a  half  sigh. 

'I  should  like  to  see  an  angel — for  once,'  she 
said. 

'  So  should  I,'  said  Eunice,  but  with  an  air  of 
pleased  contemplation  very  far  removed  from 
sighs.     '  If  he  brought  a  nice  message.' 

'  Don't  angels  always  bring  nice  messages  ? ' 
'demanded  Miss  Jane,  facing  round  again. 

'  0  no,  ma'am  !     There  was  Balaam,  you  know.' 

'  Balaam  wasn't  an  angel  —  that   ever  I  heard,' 
12 


178  CHOSS  CORXEHS. 

said  Miss  Jane.  '  I  thought  he  was  just  the  owner 
of  a  very  remarkable  ass.' 

'  Well  so  he  was,'  said  Eunice.  '  But  then 
when  he  would  go  where  he  oughtn't,  the  Lord 
sent  an  angel  to  stop  hini,  with  a  drawn  sword. 
And  David  saw  an  angel  with  a  sword,  too.' 

*  Maybe  they  all  wear  swords,'  said  Miss  Jane 
with  half  shut  eyes,  drawing  the  child  on. 

'  0  no  they  don't,'  said  Eunice.  '  At  least  they 
don't  all  always  wear  'era.  The  Bible  don't  say 
so.  I  guess  they  didn't  have  any  at  the  sepulchre. 
They  just  frightened  the  keepers  'most  to  death, 
with  their  faces  like  lightning.' 

'  You  are  so  wise' — said  Miss  Jane,  crossing  her 
arms  over  her  head  and  eyeing  Eunice; — '  you  are 
so  fearfully  wise  ! — I  should  be  an  old  woman  in  a 
week,  if  I  heard  you  talk.  Bless  me  ! — you  know 
as  much  about  angels  and  swords  and  lightning, 
as  I  do  about  my  crochet  work.' 

Eunice  gazed  in  her  turn,  rather  wistfully. 

'  Mother  always  likes  to  read  about  the  resur- 
rection since  —  since  year  before  last,' — the  little 
voice  faltered.  '  And  so  of  course  I've  read  it  a 
good  deal,  too,'  she  went  on.  '  But  it  hasn't  made 
an  old  woman  of  her.  Her  face  is  just  as  smooth 
as  it  can  be;  and  you  never  saw  such  bright  eyes. 


CROSS  CORA^ERS.  179 

I  think  she  looks  younger  than  you  do,  Miss  Jane,' 
— -with  another  earnest  glance. 

But  at  that  ]\Iiss  Jane  sat  straight  up. 

'  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  my  face  isn't  smooth 
and  my  eyes  not  bright  ?'  she  said. 

'  O  no,  ma'am,  not  generally,  said  Eunice.  '  But 
mother's  eyes  are  just  like  the  sky  when  there  isn't 
a  cloud  anywhere.' 

"  Feeling  nor  thought  that  was  not  true, 
Ne'er  made  less  beautiful  the  blue 
Unclouded  heaven  of  her  eyes." 

So  Miss  Jane  quoted  to  herself. 

'  My  eyes  are  blue  too,  Midget,'  she  said  aloud. 

'  Yes  ma'am, — but  they're  different.' 

'  Different  from  most  eyes,  some  people  think,' 
quoth  Miss  Jane.  'You  are  a  very  impertinent 
child  to  say  my  eyes  are  cloudy.' 

'  No  ma'am,  only  sometimes.' 

'  Everybody's  are,  sometimes.' 

'  Not  mother's.' 

'  Yes  they  are,'  insisted  Miss  Jane.  '  Don't  tell 
me  any  such  nonsense :  I  know  better.     When  she 

has  the  toothache,  you  know.     Or  the  headache 

as  I  have.' 

*She  never  has  headaches,'  said  Eunice,   'and 


180  C/iOSS  CORNERS. 

she  never  has  toothache;  but  the  fingerache  don't. 
And  her  finger  aches  dreadfully.'' 

'  What's  the  matter  with  it  ?' 

'  O  I  don't  know,'  said  Eunice,  '  only  she  pricked 
it.  And  now  it's  as  red — as  red  as  yom-  ribbands, 
Miss  Jane.' 

'  StuiF! '  said  Miss  Jane.  '  My  ribbands  are 
bright  scarlet.     What  does  the  doctor  say  ? ' 

'  0  she  hasn't  seen  the  doctor,'  said  Eunice,  knit- 
ting her  small  brows:  'he  costs  so  much.' 

'  Costs  so  much ! ' — 

'  Why  yes,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice, — '  to  be  sure  he 
does.     Don't  you  know  that  ? ' 

'  Well  in  all  my  life  ! ' — said  the  young  lady, 
gazing  at  Eunice,  '  I  shall  be  bankrupt  in  excla- 
mation points.' 

'O  he  costs  a  great  deal,'  said  Eunice; — 'and 
when  my  father  was  sick,  he  had  to  come,  and 
come,  and  come.  And  mother's  only  just  paid  him 
for  that.' 

'She  sits  there  all  day  with  a  scarlet  finger,' 
said  Miss  Jane;  'and  don't  send  for  the  doctor 
"because  he  costs  so  much;"  and  you  sit  here  and 
tell  me  her  eyes  are  not  cloudy ! ' — 

♦  No  ma'am.  Why  no ! '  Eunice  repeated  in  sur- 
prise.    Mother's  eyes  cloudy  ?     Of  course  not ! ' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  181 

'  Of  course  they  are — '  said  Miss  Jane  with  de- 
cision; 'and  I  am  going  straight  down  there  this 
very  minute  to  see  for  myself  Pull  that  bellrope, 
child — six  times.' 

'  Going  down  ?  to  see  mother  ? '  said  Eunice  in 
amazed  wonder.  'But  it  will  make  your  head 
ache,  Miss  Jane.' 

'  Shut  up,  and  ring  that  bell,'  said  Miss  Jane. 
'  What  do  you  know  about  my  head,  I  should  like 
to  know  ? ' 


CHAPTER  XYL 

Not  very  much,  Eunice  confessed  to  herself,  as  she 
watched  Miss  Jane's  rapid  rate  of  dressing  and 
heard  her  lively  orders.  The  brisk  little  Frencl) 
maid  could  hardly  be  quick  enough  in  her  motions 
to  suit  her  impatient  mistress  ;  and  ]\Iiss  Jane's 
ceaseless  jabber  of  French  and  English  fairly  as- 
tonished Eunice  into  silence.  She  sat  and  looked, 
that  was  all.     Then  an  idea  occurred  to  her. 

•"  Miss  Jane,'  she  said,  '  I  think  I  had  better  set 
right  off.  Because  you  will  go  in  the  carriage, — 
and  it  will  take  me  longer  to  walk.' 

'  Most  true.  Midget  :  it  undoubtedly  would ;  and 
therefore  you  are  to  go  in  the  carriage  too.' 

'  0,  am  I  ? '  said  Eunice,  flushing  up.  '  But  I 
can  walk — '  she  added. 

'  No  you  can  not,'  said  Miss  Jane.     '  You  know 

perfectly  well  that  you  Iiave  no  feet.     And  /  know 

that  you  just  want  to  get  home  first,  and  tell  your 

mother  to  clear  the  clouds  out  of  her  eyes.' 
(182) 


CliOSS  CORNERS.  183 

But  at  that,  after  one  astonished  look,  Eunice 
burst  into  such  a  soft  shout  of  merry  laughter, 
that  further  reply  was  needless.  Miss  Jane  looked 
at  her  but  said  nothing ;  rather  her  own  face  grew 
sober  as  Eunice  laughed.  Not  displeased,  the 
child  thought,  glancing  up :  it  was  only  one  of 
those  sudden  gravities  which  came  over  Miss  Jane 
sometimes.  And  presently  Eunice  forgot  all 
about  it,  in  the  interest  of  the  dressing.  Such 
flounces  and  frills  as  came  to  light;  such  ribbands, 
and  laces,  and  folds,  and  flutings !  Eunice  went 
back  to  her  first  idea  about  the  fairies,  and  sat 
looking  with  a  pleased  smile  upon  her  lips :  cer- 
tainly this  was  a  fairy  toilet.  And  even  the  small 
French  maid  herself,  whose  white  cap  and  apron 
alone  were  a  study;  short  of  her  also  being  a  fairy, 
how  could  she  possibly  tell  just  where  every  pin 
should  go,  and  how  every  fold  should  hang  ?  How 
could  she  toss  up  Miss  Jane's  hair  into  such  a 
mass  of  crinkles  and  waves  and  shining  tresses? 
Then  what  stockings  went  off — and  what  stock- 
ings went  on!  What  marvellous  boots  took  the 
place  of  the  wonderful  slippers.  What  gloves 
were  laid  ready,  what  a  parasol  slipped  out  of  its 
case ! 

The  !ittle  face  too  gathered  soberness,  as  Eunice 


184  CJiOSS  COHNERS. 

looked;  the  eyes  very  intent,  and  rather  wistful. 
It  was  a  wistful  gaze  that  at  length  came  back 
and  rested  on  the  face  of  the  owner  of  all  these 
wonders.  Was  this  the  Queen  of  Sheba  come 
to  life  again  ?     Miss  Jane  smiled  at  her. 

'  Tired  waiting  ? '  she  said. 

*  0  no,  ma'am  I ' 

'What  then,  Midget?' 

And  Eunice  answered,  simply, 

'  Nothing,  ma'am.' 

'Only  you  never  knew  before  that  'nothing' 
had  so  much  in  it,  did  you  child  ?  It  is  really  one 
of  the  most  coujprehensive  words  in  the  language,' 
Miss  Jane  added  reflectively.  •  But  I  know  what 
is  the  matter, — you  are  just  starved  to  deatii. 
Ring  that  bell  again,  Midget.' 

In  vain  Eunice  protested  that  she  was  not  starv- 
ed at  all,  and  could  wait  perfectly  well  until  she 
got  home.  Miss  Jane  would  not  listen  to  her: 
and  presently  Soper  brought  in  two  little  trays: 
one  with  a  bountiful  supply  of  bread  and  milk  for 
Eimice,  and  the  other  with  tea  and  toast  for  Miss 
Jane  herself.  But  such  bread  and  milk!  Only 
such  a  dainty  pitcher  and  plate  were  fit  to  hold  it. 
And  as  for  the  little  blue  bowl  with  its  crinkly 
gilt   edges,  Eunice   felt  as  if  that,  at  least,   must 


CROSS  CORNERS.  185 

have  come  straight  from  fairyland.  Over  the  rim 
of  her  own  teacup  Miss  Jane  watched  the  child, 
well  pleased ;— watched  till  the  last  white  drops 
were  poured  from  the  little  pitcher,  and  Eunice  sat 
with  her  hands  folded  in  a  very  comforted  way  in- 
deed. Then  Miss  Jane  set  down  her  own  cup  and 
rose  to  her  feet. 

'  Now  we  are  off,'  she  said.  And  off  they  were, — 
with  such  rapid  steps  down  the  stairs,  such  a  jump 
into  the  carrriage ;  such  dancing  and  prancing  and 
snorting  and  stamping,  on  the  part  of  the  black 
horses,  that  Eunice  was  half  bewildered.  She  be- 
gan to  feel  as  if  she  must  be  somebody  else,  and 
not  little  Eunice  Keith,  sitting  perched  up  there  in 
front  of  Miss  Jane.  And  just  as  if  everything  had 
to  be  different,  behold,  when  they  reached  the  main 
road,  the  coachman  took  the  other  turn,  and  not 
the  one  by  which  Eunice  had  come.  However,  of 
course  lie  was  only  going  home  by  a  new  way  and 
through  a  new  set  of  fields;  and  so  the  little  girl 
settled  herself  with  a  most  satisfied  mind,  to  enjoy 
whatever  came.  What  a  story  she  would  have  to 
tell  her  mother  !  how  many  questions  to  ask ! 

But  as  they  whirled  along,  it  began  to  seem  to 
Eunice  as  if  they  were  not  going  towards  home, 
even  by  a  new  road, — not  towards  her  end  of  the 


ISO  CJ^OSS  CORNERS. 

village.  She  could  not  see  the  church  steeple  auy- 
whciu  in  the  distance,  and  though  there  were  green 
meadows  enough,  and  red  barns  enough,  and 
plenty  of  white  houses,  yet  none  of  them  looked 
like  the  old  friends  she  had  lived  among. 

'  But  then  I  never  looked  at  them  from  a  carriage 
before,'  the  little  girl  reflected ;  '  so  maybe  that's  it. 
1  wonder  if  I  don't  look  just  as  strange  to  them  ? 
I  wonder  if  mother  would  know  me  ? ' 

Smiling  to  herself  at  the  thought,  Eunice  gazed 
about  her;  deciding  in  her  own  mind  where  she 
would  go  next  day  for  strawberries,  and  still 
w^atching  for  the  steeple  wdiich  nowhere  appeared. 
But  perhaps  they  would  turn  again  pretty  soon. 

They  did  turn,  the  next  minute,  wheeling  sharply 
around  another  corner;  but  now  everything  was 
stranger  than  before:  more  and  more  unfamiliar, 
and  less  and  less  like  home;  till  Eunice  was  ready 
once  more  to  take  up  her  old  conceit  of  the  fairies 
whisking  her  up  and  whirling  her  off  to  nobody 
knows  where.  The  horses  trotted  as  if  for  a  wa- 
ger; the  wheels  flew  round;  the  coachman  sat  like 
a  statue  and  not  like  a  man ;  the  shadows  on  the 
roadside  danced  tlicmsclvesinto  all  sorts  of  shapes. 
Could  they  be  real  horses,  or  a  real  coachman  ? 
could  that  shadow-hat  like  a  tower,  be  really  Miss 


CROSS   CORNERS.  187 

Jane's  ?  and  that  bobbing-about  dark  spot  be  Eu- 
nice herself?  And  now  when  at  last  the  church 
steeple  came  in  sight,  behold  it  was  the  wrong 
one ! 

'  That  is  never  ours,  in  the  world,'  thought  Eu- 
nice.    She  sat  straight  up  and  looked  about  her. 

While  she  had  been  watching  the  shadows,  the 
black  horses  had  gone  over  a  good  deal  of  ground ; 
and  now  Eunice  did  not  in  the  least  know  where 
she  was.  No,  this  was  not  the  right  spire:  it  was 
gray,  and  half  as  tail  again  as  their  own.  And 
these  were  not  the  village  houses,  now  lifting  tall 
chimneys  among  the  trees,  and  approachable  only 
through  broad  gateways  and  by  smooth  carriage 
roads.  Such  slopes  of  green  as  lay  beyond  the 
gateways  Eunice  had  never  seen ;  nor  such  beds  of 
flowers  as  gleamed  out  here  and  there ;  but  when 
the  coachman  turned  in  at  one  of  those  very  gates, 
and  dashed  along  under  the  great  trees  towards  one 
of  those  very  houses,  Eunice  sat  back  again  and 
looked  at  Miss  Jane. 

'  I  think  he  must  be  running  away,'  she  said. 
'That  isn't  our  house.' 

'  0,  isn't  it ! '  said  Miss  Jane. 

'And  this  isn't  our  village,'  Eunice  went  on. 
'  And  that  isi:'t  our  church.' 


188  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  Most  true,'  quoth  ]\Iiss  eJane.  '  You  are  an  as- 
tonishingly wise  ]\Iidget,  for  your  size.  And  I'll 
tell  you  more  yet, — nothing  isn't  anything  !  —  now 
what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  '  And  Miss  Jane 
opened  her  eyes  very  wide,  and  gazed  at  the  per- 
plexed Eunice  with  a  face  of  the  utmost  gravity. 

The  carriage  flew  round  the  sweep  and  stopped 
at  the  great  hall  door;  and  without  another  word 
Miss  Jane  jumped  out  and  shut  the  carriage  door 
upon  Eunice;  ran  up  the  steps — then  ran  down 
again. 

'  I  am  going  to  see  somebody,'  she  said ;  '  and  you 
are  to  sit  as  still  as  five  mice,  because  you  never 
could  find  your  way  home,  if  you  tried,  I'll  be 
back  in  a  minute.'  And  up  the  steps  she  went 
again,  and  was  out  of  sight  in  a  twinkling. 

One  minute  slipped  by,  two  minutes,  three  min- 
utes, and  she  did  not  come.  The  horses  pawed  and 
stamped  and  shook  their  glittering  harness;  but  the 
coachmen  sat  with  his  whip  in  air,  as  if  he  wero 
quite  well  used  both  to  Miss  Jane  and  to  waiting. 
Eunice  nestled  about,  and  looked  at  the  strango 
house,  and  along  the  strange  road;  and  nothing 
kept  her  in  place  but  Miss  Jane's  very  true 
reminder,  that  she  could  not  find  her  way  home 
alone.     At  last   steps   and   voices, — and  mit  rani<* 


CJ^OSS   CO/iNE/iS.  189 

the  missing  young  lady  as  fast  as  siie  had  gone  in, 
talking-  over  her  shoulder  to  a  pleasant-faced 
gentleman  with  white  hair,  who  followed  her  more 
at  leisure  and  listened  with  an  amused  face. 

'  One  of  my  kind,  hey  ? '  he  said.  '  I  should  like 
to  be  told  how  you  know  what  kind  that  is?  My 
'  kind '  is  pretty  cross  sometimes,  Miss,  I'd  have 
you  to  understand.' 

Eunice  looked  and  listened,  and  thought  this 
conversation  was  going  to  be  veiy  interesting 
indeed;  when  behold,  the  minute  Miss  Jane  had 
her  friend  safe  in  the  carriage,  she  began  to  jabber 
away  in  some  unknown  tongue,  and  not  a  word 
more  could  Eunice  understand.  Miss  Jane  talked, 
and  the  old  gentleman  listened, — sometimes  smil- 
ing a  little,  or  laughing  softly  to  himself,  or  nod- 
ding his  head  ; — sometimes  frowning  and  looking 
across  at  Eunice. 

'  I  daresay  he  thinks  I've  no  business  to  be  here,' 
Eunice  thought  to  herself.  '  I  wonder  what 
mother  thinks  has  become  of  me  ?  0  dear !  I 
do  hope  God  will  make  her  finger  v/ell  very  soon.' 

The  little  girl's  face  grew  very  sober  and  sor- 
rowful, and  her  thoughts  flew  quite  away  from 
the  lively  chatter.  She  sat  looking  off  at  the 
hedgerow. 


190  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  Midget,'  said  Miss  Jane  suddenly,  *  what  are 
you  thinking  of? '     Eunice  started. 

*  I  was  thinking  about  mother,  she  said. 

'Of  course'  —  said  Miss  Jane  cb-ily:  'you  are 
always  thinking  of  her.  But  what  were  you  think- 
ing.    Now  tell  me  exactly.' 

'  I  don't  believe  I  can — exactly — ma'am,  said 
Eunice ;  '  because  I  was  thinking  so  many  thing.s. 

'  Well  just  then,  when  you  sighed,'  said  Miss 
Jane.  '  You  know  perfectly  well  that  people  never 
ought  to  sigh ; — so  why  did  you  do  it  ? ' 

'  Her  finger  aches  so  dreadfully,'  said  Eunice, 
her  eyes  filling. 

'  Then  I'll  tell  you  a  secret,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  1 
am  going  straight  down  there  to  pay  her  a  visit 
and  cure  her  up.  About  ten  minutes  after  she 
sees  me,  she'll  be  all  right  again,  and  her  finger 
won't  ache  any  more.' 

Eunice  laughed ;  and  then  with  instinctive  po- 
liteness she  said, 

'  I  think  mother  will  like  to  see  you.  Miss 
Jane.' 

'  Of  course  she  will,'  said  the  young  lady  con- 
fidently.    '  How  could  she  help  it?' 

'She  don't  know  yon,  ma'ain, — not  very  well, 
Eunice   corrected   herself;    reflecting    that     Mrs. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  191 

Keith  had  at  least  heard  a  good  deal  about  Miss 
Jane.     '  Not  so  well  as  I  do.' 

'  No — hardly,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  You  and  I  have 
been  acquainted  at  least  two  weeks.  But  then 
you  are  such  a  Methusaleh,  you  must  have 
known  a  great  many  people.'  And  with  one 
of  her  imposing  nods,  Miss  Jane  went  off  again 
into  her  jabber  of  foreign  tongues.  Then  she 
came  back  to  Eunice. 

'  You  see,  Midget,'  she  began,  '  I  am  taking  my 
uncle  to  see  your  mother.  My  uncle  is  a  great 
magician.' 

'  A  magician  ! '  said  Eunice. 

'  Certainly,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  You  believe  in 
magicians,  I  suppose,  as  they  are  in  the  Bible  ? ' 

'  Yes  ma'am,'  said  Eunice  hesitating, — '  at  least 
they  used  to  be.' 

'  Used  to  be  ! '  said  Miss  Jane.  '  Do  you  mean 
so  say  they  are  not  there  now  ?  I  am  afraid  you 
read  nothing  in  the  Bible  but  what  you  like  best — 
as  some  other  people  do.' 

'  O  I  know  they  are  in  the  Bible  now,'  said  Eu- 
nice; '  but  I  mean,  they're  not  anywhere  else.' 

'  Then  what  will  you  do  with  my  uncle  the 
magician  ?'  said  Miss  Jane,  with  such  an  extremely 
sober  face,  that   Eunice   certainly  did  not  in  the 


192  CJiOSS   CORNERS. 

least  know  what  to  do  with  lev.     She  looked  from 
one  to  the  other. 

'  But  magicians  were  not  good,'  she  said.  And 
another  glance  of  the  little  girl's  eyes  towards  the 
kindly  face  of  the  old  gentleman,  seemed  to  say 
that  this  ruled  Mm  quite  out.     Miss  Jane  smiled. 

'  How  did  you  know  that,  Midget  ?'  she  inquired. 

'  Because  God  told  the  people  to  have  nothing  to 
do  with  them,'  said  Eunice. 

'  Well  your  mother  has  got  to  have  something 
to  do  with  this  one,'  said  Miss  Jane  composedly; — 
'  because  this  magician  is  going  to  cure  her  finger.' 
Eunice  shook  her  head. 

'  Mother  won't  let  him,'  she  said.  '  Not  if  he's  a 
magician.     She'd  rather  wait  for  the  doctor.' 

'  O  the  doctor ! '  quoth  Miss  Jane, — '  that  is  what 
you  are  hankering  after.  Why  do  you  suppose  I 
didn't  send  that  old  poke  to  see  your  mother,  in- 
stead of  running  round  the  country  side  after  a 
magician?'     Eunice  laughed  a  little. 

'  I  don't  know  ma'am,'  she  said.  '  I  suppose 
you  didn't  think  of  it.' 

'Stufi*!'  said  Miss  Jane:  'I  think  of  every- 
thing.' And  leaning  down  so  as  to  put  her  face 
quite  within  the  rim  of  the  small  white  sunbonnet, 
Miss  Jane  said  imprespively: 


CHOSS   CORNERS.  193 

'  Because  he  costs  so  much ! ' 

But  the  size  of  her  eyes  then,  as  she  drew  back 
to  her  place,  Eunice  could  never  afterwards  right- 
ly describe. 

The  carriage  rolled  on;  into  the  right  village 
this  time,  down  the  street  and  past  the  church  and 
the  tailor's  and  the  shoemaker's, — then  out  beyond 
the  houses; — and  there  at  last  was  the  little  cot- 
tage itself.  It  was  all  Eunice  could  do  to  sit  still. 
How  long  she  had  been  away ! — and  what  would 
her  mother  think,  to  see  her  come  back  in  this 
fashion  !  And  who  could  the  old  gentleman  be  ? 
and  what  did  Miss  Jane  mean  ?  She  would  have 
liked  to  fly  out  of  the  carriage  and  into  the  house ; 
tell  everything  and  ask  twenty  questions, — before 
Miss  Jane  got  there  ; — but  Miss  Jane  was  much 
too  wide  awake  a  person  to  permit  any  such  pro- 
ceedings. In  fact  she  got  out  of  the  carriage  first 
herself,  laid  hold  of  a  corner  of  Eunice's  apron; 
and  then,  leaving  the  old  gentleman  all  by  him- 
self, away  they  marched  together  into  the  house. 

But  once  inside  the  room  where  her  mother  sat, 

no  apron  could  hold  Eunice.     In  a  second  of  time 

it  was  untied,  and  left  hanging  from  Miss  Jane's 

hand,  and  Eunice  was  in  her  mother's  arms,  half 

smothering  her  with  caresses. 
13 


194  CROSS   CORNERS. 

'  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  gone  a  whole  week ! '  she 
cried, — '  and  oh  mother,  is  your  finger  better?' 

Miss  Jane,  standing  still  near  the  door,  looked 
on  in  silence,  but  with  eyes  that  lost  not  the 
smallest  detail.  With  one  glance  she  took  in  the 
plain  little  room,  so  exquisitely  neat  and  (to  her 
eyes)  so  utterly  barren.  She  saw  the  quiet  face 
with  its  slight  drawing  of  the  forehead  that  told 
of  physical  pain; — she  saw  how  the  face  lit  up  at 
the  sight  of  Eunice; — until  Miss  Jane,  who  had 
come  on  a  search  for  '  cloudy  eyes,'  suddenly  found 
her  own  eyes  "  cloud  up  for  rain,"  and  stood  look- 
ing down,  and  trying  to  get  control  of  herself 
Ah,  people  were  rich  who  loved  each  other  so ! 
— Then  a  little  hand  slid  into  hers. 

'  Come  and  see  mother,'  said  Eunice.  Mrs.  Keith 
had  risen  and  was  close  at  hand.  '  Mother,  this  is 
Miss  Jane.  And  she  wanted  to  see  you.  She 
wanted  to  see,'  the  little  girl  went  on,  watching 
the  very  earnest  way  in  which  the  two  looked  at 
each  other, — '  she  wanted  to  see  if  your  eyes  were 
cloudy  ! — '  And  Eunice  put  her  hands  to  her  face 
and  laughed. 

'  Yes,  and  you  got  inside  the  door  first,  so  as  to 
make  sure,'  said  Miss  Jane  severely.  '  Of  course 
they  would  not  gloom  on  you.     Now  Midget,  don't 


CROSS  CORNERS.  I95 

presume  to  answer  me,  but  go  straight  off  and  get 
me  a  glass  of  water  from  the  very  coldest  side  of 
the  spring,' 

Eunice  laid  her  head  caressingly  against  Mrs. 
Keith. 

'  I  don't  know  which  is  the  coldest,'  she  said. 

'  Well  go  and  find  out,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  I  shall 
not  sit  down  till  you  are  off.' 

With  sudden  perception  that  Miss  Jane  wished 
to  see  her  alone,  Mrs.  Keith  said, 

'  Go,  Eunice.  If  any  side  is  the  coldest,  it  must 
be  the  side  where  the  water  comes  in.' 

*  To  be  sure ! '  cried  Eunice,  darting  off  for  her 
pitcher — '  where  it  comes  bubbling  up  under  the 
rock.     If  there  is  any  difference.' 

'  You  are  to  find  out,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  You 
must  dip  some  up  on  every  side  and  drink  it;  and 
then  bring  me  whichever  is  most  like  ice.' 

Eunice  paused  and  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

' What  are  you  going  to  do?'  she  said.  'Will 
he  come  in  ? ' — and  she  nodded  towards  the  car- 
riage. 

'  Eunice,  that  is  very  impolite,'  said  Mrs.  Keith. 
*  You  must  not  ask  such  questions.' 

'  But  she  said  he  was  a  magician,'  said  the  little 
girl  half  under  her  breath. 


196  C/^OSS  CORNERS. 

'  And  so  you  are  afraid  to  leave  me  in  the  Lord's 
care  ?  '  said  the  mother  smiling.  '  My  little  daugh- 
ter's faith  is  certainly  very  small.' 

Eunice  hung  her  head,  and  went  off  without 
another  word.  But  as  to  knowing  which  side  of 
the  spring  was  the  coldest,  that  was  plainly  im- 
possible: the  very  water  itself  would  not  tell. 
Eunice  drank  a  little  from  one  place  and  another 
place,  and  could  have  turned  the  whole  thing  into 
a  frolic,  had  no  magician  been  on  hand;  but  now 
deciding  that  her  mother  must  be  right,  she 
filled  the  pitcher  at  the  very  head  of  the  spring, 
and  ran  back  into  the  house. 

By  this  time  ^liss  Jane  had  taken  a  chair  close 
by  Mrs.  Keith,  and  was  talking  very  fast  and  very 
earnestly;  and  Eunice  thought  her  mother  looked 
very  much  interested.  But  IMiss  Jane  broke  oflf 
at  once  as  Eunice  came  in. 

'  Now  here's  that  child  again,'  she  said. 

'  But  you  wanted  some  water,  ma'am,'  said  Eu- 
nice, rather  aggiieved. 

'I  wanted  a  drink,'  said  Miss  Jane,  'and  you 
seem  to  think  I  wanted  a  bath.  What  am  I  to  do 
with  this  great  pitcher,  pray  ? ' 

'0  I  forgot!'  cried  Eunice.  She  set  down  her 
pitcher  and  ran  to  fetch  the  white  mug.     '  Please 


CROSS  CORNERS.  197 

excuse    me,    Miss    Jane,  —  I    was    very    stupid.' 

'  Very  stupid  indeed,'  said  Miss  Jane,  sipping 
the  clear  cold  water ;  '  but  you  are  a  good  little 
Midget,  nevertheless.  Now  run  off  and  play. 
The  water's  delicious,  but  1  don't  wish  any  more.' 

But  Eunice  stood  still. 

'  I  don't  want  to  play,'  she  said.  '  1  want  to  see 
mother.' 

'  Do  see  her  then,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  Take  a 
good  look,  and  go.' 

Eunice  eyed  her  suspiciously. 

'  That  isn't  seeing  her,'  she  said. 

'  My  patience!'  said  Miss  Jane.  'Well  I  want 
to  see  her  too — so  there.' 

'  I  wont  talk,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice,  her  lip  begin- 
ning to  tremble.  'I  wont  say  a  word.  I'll  just 
listen.' 

'  Precisely — '  said  Miss  Jane,  in  her  dry  tone. 

Eunice  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  Mrs. 
Keith  smiled,  and  drew  the  child  into  her  arms. 

'  You  will  get  into  trouble  on  any  by-ways,'  she 
said  to  Miss  Jane.  '  Eunice  is  a  great  literalist. 
Listen,  love.  This  gentleman  who  has  been  so  very 
kind  as  to  come,  and  whom  Miss  Jane  was  so  very 
kind  as  to  bring,  he  thinks  he  can  cure  my  hand 
in  a  very  little  while.' 


198  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  Well  —  I'd  like  to  see  him  do  it,'  said  Eunice, 
moving  her  head  lovingly  on  her  mother's  neck. 

'  But  I  do  not  wish  that  you  should.  It  is  much 
better  that  you  should  not.' 

'  Will  he  hurt  you  ? '  cried  Eunice  looking  up 
with  startled  eyes.  '  Are  you  afraid  he  will  hurt 
you?' 

'  He  must,  I  think,  to  cure  me;  but  I  am  not 
afraid.' 

'  But  oh  let  me  stay  ! '  cried  Eunice,  her  breast 
heaving.  '  I  will  be  ever  so  good, — I  won't  say  a 
word.  I'll  just  stand  here  and  let  you  lean  back 
upon  me.  And  I'm  afraid  of  him,'  she  whispered. 
'  He  looks  very  nice,  but  she  called  him  a  magician.' 

'  Because  the  Lord  has  given  him  such  skill,' 
said  Mrs.  Keith,  kissing  the  little  face  that  lay  on 
ner  shoulder.  '  Go,  darling,  and  let  the  sparrows 
teach  you  their  lesson.' 

'  Ah,  no  ! '  Eunice  pleaded.  '  Let  me  stay  with 
you,  mother ! ' 

'  No,  love,  you  must  go  at  once.' 

Eunice  went  instantly  then,  though  her  hands 
covered  her  face  before  she  reached  the  door;  but 
she  said  not  another  word.  Miss  Jane  looked 
after  her. 

'  Poor  little  Midi>:ot  ! '  she  said.     '  But  it  is  best 


CROSS  CORNERS.  199 

SO ;  because  the  lancing  may  be  a  sharp  thing,  and 
there's  no  use  in  her  breaking  her  heart  before  the 
time  comes.' — But  Miss  Jane  moved  towards  the 
door  rather  slowly,  considering  what  a  hurry  she 
was  in.  At  the  door  she  stopped  and  turned 
round. 

'  What  is  the  lesson  the  sparrows  teach  ? '  she 
said.  Mrs.  Keith  looked  in  her  turn.  Were  the 
old  ever-new,  time-worn,  words  really  unknown  to 
this  gay  young  lady  ?  She  gave  them  very  simply, 
adding  none  of  her  own. 

'  "  Are  not  two  sparrows  sold  for  a  farthing  ?  and 
one  of  them  shall  not  fall  on  the  ground  without 
your  Father.  But  the  very  hairs  of  your  head  are 
all  numbered.  Fear  ye  not,  therefore,  ye  are  of 
more  value  than  many  sparrows."  ' 

'  Will  the  sparrows  teach  it  to  everybody  ?  '  said 
Miss  Jane  in  her  sudden  way. 

'  To  everybody  who  will  hear.'  ' 

'  But  that  promise  is  to  the  children.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  '  and  the  children  are 
those  who  listen.     "  My  sheep  hear  my  voice." ' 

Miss  Jane  turned  again  and  went  off  to  the 
carriage. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

In  that  minute  of  time,  while  the  old  gentleman 
got  out  of  the  carriage  and  followed  Miss  Jane  into 
the  house,  Eunice  who  had  been  on  the  watch,  flew 
back  to  her  mother's  side. 

'  Do  you  think  he's  a  magician  ? '  she  whispered 
breathlessly. 

'  Certainly  not.  He  is  only  a  kind  doctor,'  said 
Mrs.  Keith.  '  Go  and  pray  that  the  Lord  may  let 
liim  cure  my  hand.' 

If  you  want  to  really  comfort  people,  give  them 
something  to  do.  Eunice  went  off  with  a  lighten- 
ed heart  to  her  old  place  under  the  oak  tree,  among 
the  robins. 

'  I  'spose  they'll  do  just  as  well  as  sparrows,  for 
a  message,'  she  thought,  looking  about  her.  '  In 
one  place  it  says  "  fowls  of  the  air  "  —  and  I'm 
sure  that  might  mean  robins.  But  in  that  verse 
it's  talking  about  daily  bread.'     The  sweet  words 

came  clearly  to  mind,  she  had  read  them  so  often. 
(200) 


CHOSS  CORNERS.  201 

"Which  neither  sow  nor  reap,  which  neither 
have  storehouse  nor  barn,  yet  your  heavenly 
Father  feedeth  them." 

Eunice  drew  a  long  sigh  of  pleasure. 

*  How  pretty  it  is  ! '  she  said.  '  I  think  it's  a 
great  deal  nicer  not  to  have  a  storehouse.  At 
least  for  the  birds — ^  she  went  on,  correcting  her- 
self. '  I  guess  I'd  like  one  pretty  well.  I'd  like  a 
barn  too, — a  barn's  so  pretty.  If  we  had  three 
barns,'  said  Eunice  reflectively,  '  one  full  of  wheat, 
and  one  full  of  hay,  and  one  full  of  corn,  I  don't 
suppose  we'd  ever  want  anything  more.  Davy 
would  take  some  wheat  to  the  mill  whenever 
we  wanted  a  barrel  of  flour  —  a  whole  barrel !  — 
and  then  we'd  have  fresh  bread  every  day.  And 
part  of  the  corn  would  make  sweet  johnny  cakes, 
for  a  change ;  and  the  rest  would  feed  the  chickens. 
For  we  should  have  to  keep  chickens,  you  know,  if 
we  had  a  barn  full  of  corn.  And  the  hay  would 
be  for  our  cow  —  for  of  course  we  must  have  a 
cow — and  a  little  calf.  And  then  we'd  have  butter 
plenty,  for  our  cow's  milk  would  be  all  cream.' 

Hopping  about  on  the  green  grass,  waiting  pa- 
tiently for  the  little  '  swish ! '  which  told  them 
where  to  dart  for  an  earthworm,  two  robins  watch- 
ed her  with  their  bright  eyes.     "  That  thou  givest 


202  CROSS  CORNERS. 

them,  they  gather  " — so  ran  their  tender  little  mes- 
sage; but  Eunice  did  not  heed  it.  For  the  moment 
she  had  quite  forgotten  whose  child  she  was,  and 
was  busy  with  that  very  unwise  thing — wishing 
for  what  the  Lord  had  not  given. 

'  Mother  would  wear  new  dresses  then,'  she 
thought ;  '  and  she  would  be  just  as  fat  and  strong 
as  could  be.' 

And  here  Eunice  suddenly  remembered  what 
slie  had  been  sent  out  to  do, — even  to  pray  that 
the  strange  doctor  might  be  allowed  to  do  some- 
thing towards  that  being  '  fat  and  strong '  of 
which  she  had  been  dreaming.  For  with  the 
quieting  of  her  fear  about  the  magician,  the  bur- 
den had  quite  rolled  off  her  little  heart.  Of  the 
doctor,  Eunice  was  not  afraid.  She  thought  it 
was  very  nice  he  had  come.  And  so  when  she 
slid  down  from  her  rock  seat  to  the  soft  moss  at 
its  side,  the  childish  prayer  was  much  more  praise 
than  petition. 

If  Eunice  had  known  that  her  mother  was  even 
then  lying  back  in  a  dead  faint,  I  am  afraid  (so 
short  sighted  are  we)  that  her  thankfulness  would 
have  been  very  much  cut  down,  and  yet  it  was 
only  a  token  that  the  work  was  done.  For  though 
Mrs.  Keith's  strength  gave  way  at  first  before  the 


CHOSS  CORNERS.  203 

doctor's  sharp  remedies,  yet  relief  from  pain  fol- 
lowed immediately;  and  the  faintness  passed  into 
a  refreshing  sleep. 

'  That's  the  very  best  thing  she  can  do,'  said  the 
kind  old  doctor,  looking  on.  'I'll  warrant  she's 
had  little  enough  rest  for  a  week  past.  But  she 
must  have  nourishing  food  too,  and  plenty  of  it. 
You  must  see  that  she  does,  Jane.' 

'  0  I  can  send  her  things  enough, — that  is  easy,' 
said  Miss  Jane ;  knitting  her  brows  as  if  thinking 
over  soDiething  else  that  was  hard.  'But  she 
can't  be  left  alone  here  with  that  child.' 

♦  After  tonight' 

'  Well,  for  tonight—'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  Who'll 
stay  here  tonight  ? ' 

'  You,  I  should  imagine,'  said  the  old  doctor 
drawing  on  his  gloves.  'Yes,  it  would  be  well 
you  should  be  here  tonight;  because  she  ought  to 
sleep  right  through,  without  being  disturbed.' 

'  But  I  know  nothing  about  sick  people,'  said 
Miss  Jane,  looking  a  good  deal  disturbed  herself 

'  Learn.' 

'  Suppose  she  faints  away  again  ? ' 

'  She  won't.  And  you  won't,'  added  the  old 
doctor  quizzically. 

Miss  Jane  stood  thinking. 


204  CROSS  COKNEJiS. 

'  I  shall  want  a  host  of  things,'  she  said. 

'  Go  and  get  them.' 

'  And  lose  every  scrap  of  patience  I  have  in  the 
world,  at  the  hands  of  Ada  and  Julia.' 

'  Make  a  list  then,  and  /'/?  get  them — or  order 
them,'  said  the  old  doctor.  '  And  be  quick,  girl. 
Your  charitable  outbreaks  take  time,  I  can  tell 
you.     And  the  needless  minutes  I  want.' 

So  it  fell  out,  that  Eunice,  beginning  to  wonder 
why  she  was  not  called,  suddenly  heard  the  car- 
riage drive  off,  and  whirl  along  down  the  road  again. 
She  thought  it  was  rather  (jueer  that  Miss  Jane 
should  go  without  a  word  to  her ;  but  in  the  de- 
light that  there  was  no  one  now  to  forbid  her  com- 
ing in,  she  easily  forgave  that. 

'  It's  just  one  of  her  ways,  I  s'pose,'  thought  the 
little  girl  to  herself  '  Maybe  her  head  aches 
again.' — And  joyously  now  she  ran  back  to  the 
house,  breaking  forth  into  her  favorite  song  of 
'  Mother  and  I.' 

But  what  was  her  astonishment  as  she  came 
bounding  up  to  the  door,  to  see  Miss  Jane  come 
out,  and  mysteriously  closing  the  door  behind  her 
lay  her  finger  upon  her  li[)K. 

'  Softly ! '  she  said.  '  Your  mother  has  gone  to 
sleep.' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  205 

'  To  sleep  ! '  cried  Eunice  aghast.  '  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  day  !     0  then  she's  very  sick.' 

'  Stuff  and  nonsense ! '  said  Miss  Jane,  catching 
hold  of  her,  as  Eunice  was  rushing  by.  '  She  is 
just  getting  well  as  fast  as  she  can.  Mayn't  peo- 
ple sleep  in  the  day  when  they  can't  at  night,  I 
wonder  ? ' 

Eunice  stood  still,  looking  up  at  her.  And  I 
suppose  something  in  the  little  face,  which  had 
suddenly  grown  pale,  must  have  gone  to  Miss 
Jane's  heart;  for  she  stooped  down  till  her  own 
face  was  at  the  same  level,  and  kissed  the  child. 

'  I  am  telling  you  the  truth,'  she  said, — '  why 
don't  you  believe  me  ?  The  pain  is  so  much  bet- 
ter that  she  has  gone  fast  asleep,  and  the  doctor 
said  that  was  just  the  very  best  thing  she  could 
do.' 

The  little  girl  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief 

'  I'm  glad,'  she  said.  '  But  you  frightened  me, 
Miss  Jane.' 

'  Frightened  you  ? '  said  Miss  Jane,  giving  her  a 
little  shake, — '  I  can't  see  what  business  you  had 
to  be  frightened.  1  thought  you  were  sent  out 
here  expressly  to  study  the  sparrows.' 

Eunice  laid  a  small  hand  on  the  young  lady's 
shoulder,  looking  wistfully  into  her  face. 


206  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  0,  do  you  know  about  the  sparrows  ? '  she  said. 
'  I  thought  maybe  you  didn't,  Miss  Jane.' 

But  at  that  Miss  Jane  jumped  up  again. 

'  And  /  think,  you  and  I  had  better  go  into  the 
house,'  she  said.  '  We  have  a  great  deal  to  do.  I 
shall  faint  away  myself",  if  I  don't  have  my  lunch 
presently.' 

'0! — '  cried  Eunice,  her  face  all  white  again, 
'  did  mother  faint  ?  ' 

Miss  Jane  eyed  her  gravely. 

*  Midget,'  she  said,  '  you  should  always  keep 
exactly  to  facts.  I  said  I  should  faint  if  I  didn't 
have  my  lunch, — and  you  immediately  ask  me  if 
your  mother  did.  I  suppose  you  think  that's  the 
only  thing  in  creation  that  matters.' 

'  But  did  she,  ma'am  ? '  insisted  the  little  girl 
earnestly. 

'  I  daresay  she  has  —  loads  of  times,'  said  Miss 
Jane.  '  You  know  she  has  done  everything,  of 
every  sort,  that  anybody  ever  could  possibly  do. 
But  /haven't;  and  if  I  begin,  I  shall  make  a  time 
of  it,  I  can  tell  you,  and  give  you  no  end  of  both- 
er. So  come  right  in  and  give  me  my  lunch  this 
minute.' 

Keeping  her  hand  on  the  little  girl's  shoulder 
Miss  Jane  marched  her  in;  and  then  through  the 


CROSS  CORNERS.  207 

small  sitting  room  to  the  door  of  the  bedroom. 
Then  putting  one  hand  over  Eunice's  mouth,  with 
the  other  she  softly  opened  the  door,  and  shewed 
her  Mrs.  Keith  lying  on  the  bed  in  the  deepest, 
quietest  sleep.  Then  Miss  Jane  closed  the  door 
again  and  drew  Eunice  away. 

'There — ^  she  said.  'Now  that  you  see  for 
yourself  that  my  uncle  the  magician  hasn't  con- 
jured her  away,  I  suppose  you  will  be  kind 
enough  to  give  me  something  to  eat.' 

'  I'll  try,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice,  drawing  a  deep 
sigh.  '  But  she  looks  so  pale  ! '  she  said,  stopping 
short. 

'  Wake  her  up,  and  she'll  look  paler  yet,'  said 
Miss  Jane.  'How  should  she  look,  with  such  a 
hand  as  she  has  had,  pray  ? ' 

Eunice  sighed  again,  brushed  away  two  or  three 
stray  tears  that  somehow  came  when  they  were 
not  wanted;  and  then  mustering  all  her  resolution, 
straightened  herself  up  and  began  to  set  the  table. 

Miss  Jane,  resting  in  a  chair  by  the  window, 
looked  on.     It  was  quite  a  study. 

First  of  all,  as  she  could  not  go  into  the  next 
room  to  put  it  away,  Eunice  hung  her  sunbonnet 
on  the  furthest  oif  chair;  laid  her  apron  there  too; 
and  then  opening  another  door  she  went  out  into 


208  CKOSS  CO/^^NEMS. 

the  back  porch,  and  Miss  Jane  heard  the  splash- 
ing of  water,  as  if  the  little  hands  were  getting  a 
very  big  bath  indeed.  Then  Eunice  came  in,  tied 
on  her  apron  again,  and  went  to  work.  She 
brought  out  a  fresh  tablecloth,  very  white  and 
smooth  if  it  was  not  very  line;  set  on  the  few  plain 
dishes, — then  stood  thinking. 

'  I  wonder  what  mother  will  have  ? '  she  said. 

'  Your  mother  had  a  cup  of  grand  beef  juice, 
which  the  magician  took  out  of  his  pocket,  before 
she  went  to  sleep,'  said  Miss  Jane;  '  and  there  is 
more  ready  for  her  as  soon  as  she  wakes  up.  The 
question  is  what  I  shall  have.  I  believe  you  don't 
care  if  I  starve  to  death.' 

Eunice  came  a  step  nearer,  and  again  hesi- 
tated. 

'  You  said  you  wanted  lunch,  ma'am,'  she  said. 
'And  we  don't  ever  have  lunch, — and  1  don't  know 
what  to  get' 

'  Good  patience  ! '  quoth  IMiss  Jane, — '  call  it 
dinner,  child,  if  you  like.  Or  tea.  It  will  be  tea- 
time  before  it  is  ready.  Give  me  something  to  eat, 
under  any  name.' 

Eunice  dived  into  her  closet  again. 

'There's  two  of  your  eggs,  Miss  Jane,'  she  said, 
putting  her  head  out;  '  and  there's  a  piece  of  bread 


CROSS  CORNERS.  209 

— and — O  yec,  there  is  some  tea.  Will  you  have  a 
cup  of  tea,  ina'am  ? ' 

'  Of  course  I  will,'  said  the  young  lady.  How 
should  I  have  tea  without  tea,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?     Or  lunch  either,  for  that  matter.' 

Eunice  darted  out — quite  out  of  the  house  this 
time, — coming  back  directly  with  her  kettle  full 
of  fresh  water  straight  from  the  spring.  The  chip 
basket,  happily,  was  already  filled;  and  the  fire 
was  made,  and  the  kettle  swung  on  the  crane, 
before  Miss  Jane  fairly  knew  what  all  this  run- 
ning about  meant. 

'  Dear  me,'  she  said,  '  so  all  that  must  be  done 
first.  Of  course, — kettles  are  not  always  boiling, 
I  suppose.  Why  Midget,  you've  turned  into  a  fire- 
fly. O  how  pretty !  ' — for  the  frisky  little  flames 
were  curling  and  darting  above  the  small  black 
kettle  in  the  liveliest  way.  'I  never  saw  any- 
thing so  pretty  in  all  my  life.'  She  drew  her  chair 
up  in  front  of  the  clean-swept  hearth  and  gazed 
into  the  fire.  Eunice  too,  having  finished  her 
preparations,  drew  np  the  little  stool  and  sat  down 
in  the  opposite  corner ;  watching  the  gay  blaze  with 
eyes  as  intent  as  the  older  ones. 

*  Mother  and  I  sit  here  very  often,  after  it  gets 
14 


210  CROSS  CORNERS. 

too  dark  to  sew,'  she  said.  *  Sometimes  we  don't 
light  the  candle  at  all  till  after  tea.' 

'  Sit  and  talk  ? ' — Eunice  nodded. 

'  We  haven't  done  it  so  very  much  just  lately/ 
she  said.  '  Because  it's  been  warm  weather.  Not 
since  Sunday  before  last,  I  think —  when  it  rained 
and  blew.' 

'  Well  it  certainly  did  that,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  And 
you  sat  here  and  talked  ?  What  did  you  talk  about  ? ' 

'  0,  about  the  rain  and  the  wind  in  the  Bible,' 
said  Eunice;  'and  how  at  first  there  wasn't  any 
rain ;  and  all  that,  you  know,  IMiss  Jane.'  Eunice 
bent  forward  to  throw  some  more  chips  into  the 
tire,  and  Miss  Jane  watched  her  curiously.  No, 
she  herself  did  not  '  know  '  all  these  things,  —  and 
what  a  queer  life  those  people  must  live  who  ditL 
Eunice  talked  as  easily  and  frankly  of  Bible  words 
and  Bible  history,  as  if  it  had  all  been  in  the 
morning  paper.  With  a  degree  of  assurance,  too, 
which  morning  papers  never  give. 

But  now  the  little  kettle  began  to  sing,  and  then 
to  sputter,  and  then  to  spurt  out  hot  drops  upon 
the  fire ;  and  Eunice  brought  a  neat  holder  and  lifted 
it  off  the  crane.  Then  she  scalded  the  teapot. 
Then  she  sped  away  into  the  closet  again,  and 
fetched  out  an  old,  old  teacaddy,  the  like  of  which 


CROSS  CORNERS.  211 

Miss  Jane  had  never  seen,  and  which  made  her 
eyes  dance.     Such  a  caddy,  in  such  a  house  ! 

Alas,  it  soon  appeared  that  there  was  not  much 
in  it.  Eunice  patiently  shook  out  the  crisp-curled 
leaves,  till  she  had  about  twice  as  much  as  her 
mother  used  (she  did  not  like  to  put  in  so  very  lit- 
tle for  ]\Iiss  Jane)  and  thought  that  would  do  ver^^ 
nicely.  But  was  there  enough  left  for  her  mother's 
tea  and  breakfast  ?  She  stood  thinking,  teapot  in 
hand. 

'  Well,  child,  what  makes  you  stop  ? '  said  Miss 
Jane.     '  Put  in  the  tea  and  have  done.' 

'  I've  put  it  in,  ma'am,'  said  Eunice. 

'  Put  it  in  ?  '  said  Miss  Jane, — '  why  you've  only 
looked  into  the  pot.  Here — '  and  catching  the 
little  caddy  from  the  child's  hand,  Miss  Jane  reck- 
lessly poured  out  every  bit  there  was  there.  Eu- 
nice stood  aghast, 

'  That's  all  ''ight,'  said  Miss  Jane  nodding  at  her 
as  she  gave  the  caddy  back.  '  I  don't  want  to 
drink  teapot,  child.  Now  make  the  tea ; ' — which 
Eunice  did  without  another  word.  In  stunned 
silence  she  brought  out  the  saucepan  for  the  eggs, 
boiled  them  to  a  second  by  Miss  Jane's  watch;  set 
a  chair  for  tlio  guest:  and  meekly  inquired  if  she 
wanted  any  more  water  in  the  teapot. 


212  CJiOSS  CORNERS. 

'  To  be  sure  I  do,'  said  Miss  Jane  laughing, — '  I 
want  cups  and  cups.  But  only  one  cup  at  a  time, 
you  know.  Poor  little  Midget !  —  I've  scared  you 
out  of  all  your  five  wits.  Did  you  never  see  your 
caddy  empty  before,  child  ?  Never  mind,  I'll  fill 
it  up  again.' 

And  with  that  Miss  Jane  placed  herself  at  the 
little  table;  and  though  she  made  a  wry  face  when 
she  was  told  there  was  no  butter,  yet  being  really 
very  hungry  she  found  (as  people  in  such  circum- 
stances generally  do)  that  she  could  eat  her  bread 
without  it. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Variety  is  a  wonderful  spice.  Miss  Jane  had  eaten 
luncheons  of  every  description  of  excellence  and 
profusion;  but  bread  and  tea,  without  either  milk 
or  butter,  was  something  new.  At  home  she 
would  not  have  looked  at  it  ; — but  here,  with  the 
quaint  little  figure  across  the  table,  and  the  severe- 
ly plain  little  room,  it  was  all  in  keeping.  And 
Miss  Jane  was  great  on  having  things  match.  Eu- 
nice too  enjoyed  her  dry  bread  (without  the  tea) 
being  in  an  altogether  comforted  and  comfortable 
state  of  mind.  For  Mrs.  Keith  had  been  awake ; 
and  being  ordered  by  Miss  Jane  to  lie  still,  had 
gone  peacefully  to  sleep  again;  first  assuring  Eu- 
nice that  she  felt  a  great  deal  better.  And  Eunice 
never  had  to  discount  her  mothers  words.  So  the 
two  faces  were  very  bright,  and  ]\Iiss  Jane  kept 
saying  such  fimny  things,  that  Eunice  could  do 
nothing  but  laugh  and  wonder. 

But  when  they  had  devoured  the  last  crumb  of 

(213) 


214  CROSS  CORNERS. 

bread,  and  she  had  washed  the  dishes  and  put 
them  away,  then  Eunice  began  to  wonder  still 
more  about  something  else.  She  had  been  in  to 
give  her  mother  another  cup  of  the  strong  broth, 
and  came  back  expecting  to  find  Miss  Jane  all 
ready  to  go;  but  instead  of  that,  3Iiss  Jane  sat 
gazing  into  the  ashes  of  the  little  fire  as  if  she 
never  meant  to  move  again.  Stranger  still,  she 
had  taken  off  her  small  round  hat  and  hung  it  on 
a  chair  by  Eunice's  sunbonnet.  And  now  indeed 
it  was  getting  late,  and  towards  real  teatime,  sure 
enough. 

Eunice  went  softly  about,  brushing  up  a  crumb 
or  two,  pulling  the  curtains  and  table  cover  into 
more  exact  order;  then  took  her  basket  and  went 
off  for  chips,  and  brought  in  a  fresh  pail  of  water; 
and  still  Miss  Jane  sat  looking  into  the  ashes.  So, 
seeing  no  better  might  be,  after  one  more  peep  into 
the  next  room,  Eunice  came  back  to  her  own  little 
bench  in  the  corner,  and  gazed  into  the  ashes  too. 

But  ashes  are  different,  at  different  times  of 
one's  life;  and  Eunice  saw  such  funny  things  in 
them,  from  her  point  of  view,  that  she  sat  smiling 
to  herself;  and  once  would  have  laughed  out,  if 
she  had  not  in  a  great  hurry  smothered  her  mouth 
with  both  hands. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  215 

'  What  is  the  matter  ?  '  said  Miss  Jane  suddenly 
turning  to  her. 

Eunice  blushed,  and  said, 

*  Nothing,  ma'am.' 

'  Now  Midget,'  said  Miss  Jane  gravely,  '  when  I 
say  What  is  the  matter,  I  do  not  mean  to  ask 
whether  you  have  sprained  your  ankle  within  the 
last  five  minutes, — nor  whether  you  suppose  the 
house  is  on  fire: — but  what  you  are  laughing 
about.' 

'  I  was  only  telling  Davy,  Miss  Jane,'  said  the 
little  girl,  a  good  deal  abashed. 

'  Telling  him  what  ? ' 

'  0  —  about  all  the  queer  things  today,'  said 
Eunice. 

'Well  you  are  one  of  them,'  said  Miss  Jane. 
'  And  instead  of  sitting  there  looking  at  something 
you  can't  see,  you  had  much  better  hunt  up  that 
verse  in  the  Bible  you  were  talking  so  fast  about. 
We'll  find  out  whether  you  were  right.  How  you 
got  your  dinner,  you  know.' 

'  I  don't  think  it  says  dinner  exactly,'  said  Eunice, 
jumping  up  to  fetch  the  big  book.  '  It's  about 
having  any  sort  of  your  own  way,  Miss  Jane.' 

'  Yes,  and  I  like  every  sort  of  my  own  way,'  de- 
clared ]\Iiss  Jane.     '  So  there.' 


216  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  0  yes,  so  do  I ! '  said  Eunice.  '  1  think  it's 
lovely. — At  first,'  she  added  doubtfully.  Miss  Jane 
laughed. 

'  Methusaleh  is  too  young  for  you,'  she  said. 
'  You  must  have  known  Adam.' 

'  Well  mother  says  ]\Iethusaleh  did  know  him,' 
said  Eunice  looking  up  with  her  serious  face. 

'  Good  patience  ! '  exclaimed  Miss  Jane.  '  Can't 
one  set  foot  anywhere  on  Bible  ground  without 
being  tripped  up  ?  You  attend  to  your  business, 
and  shew  me  why  my  own  way  isn't  good.  / 
think  it  is  firstrate.     Always.' 

Eunice  shook  her  head. 

'  Mother  says  it  isn't  good — ever,'  she  said.  '  I 
can  shew  you.  Miss  Jane.  Mother  put  the  marks 
in  for  me  just  the  other  day;  about  the  people  who 
would  have  their  own  way,  and  how  tliey  liked  it. 
There  was  Eve,  to  begin.' 

'  Eve  !  '  said  ]Mis8  Jane,  opening  her  eyes.  '  That 
is  certainly  '  to  begin.'  What  about  Eve,  you 
small  great  grandchild  ? ' 

'  She  liked  her  way  best,'  said  Eunice,  trying  hard 
to  remember  just  what  Mrs.  Keith  had  said.  'She 
wanted  something  God  had  not  given  her.  She 
didn't  believe  he  knew.' 

'And  so  you  think  she  got  her  own  dinner — or 


CROSS  CORNERS.  217 

rather  her  dessert,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  Eve,  of  all 
things  !  I  suppose  Esau  is  the  next  hungry 
creature  that  comes  along  ?  0  you  need  not  look 
80  astonished.  I  do  know  a  few  Bible  names — if 
1  could  get  a  chance  to  mention  them.' 

'  Well  Esau  is  the  next  one,'  said  Eunice,  turning 
over  the  leaves.  '  He  gave  the  whole  of  his  birth- 
right for  just  one  meal.' 

'  What  harm  ?      It  was  his  own,'  said  Miss  Jane. 

'  Mother  says,'  answered  Eunice,  '  that  it  was 
giving  away  something  the  Lord  had  given  him, 
for  something  the  Lord  had  imV 

'  Now  Midget,'  said  Miss  Jane  severely,  'you  know 
that  will  never  do.  Esau  was  near  dying  of  hun- 
ger— -just  as  I  was  a  while  ago.  Would  you  have 
let  him  starve  ? ' 

'  But  he  didn't  wait — '  said  the  little  girl. 

'  Wait? '  cried  Miss  Jane.  '  I  hate  waiting ! 
What  should  he  wait  for  ?  ' 

'  For  God — mother  says,'  Eunice  answered  sim- 
ply. '  Mother  taught  me  such  beautiful  words 
about  that.  "  Blessed  are  all  they  that  wait  for 
him," — and  "  The  Lord  is  good  to  the  soul  that 
waiteth  for  him."  And,  "They  shall  not  be 
ashamed  that  wait  for  me."  All  those  verses,  you 
know,  Miss  Jane.' 


218  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  How  should  I  know  ? ' 

'  I  thought  perhaps  your  mother  taught  you,' 
Eunice  ventured  doubtiuUy. 

'  Midget,  I  have  lived  all  ray  life  at  boarding 
school.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  six  years 
old; 

'  Did  she  ?  0  poor  Miss  Jane ! ' — Eunice  left  her 
little  bench  and  came  and  stood  by  her  friend's 
side.  '  But  wasn't  she  a  Christian,  ma'am  ? '  she 
added,  with  a  child's  fearless  ignorance  of  ques- 
tions. 

'  Yes  indeed  ! ' 

'  O  then  you'll  see  her  again  pretty  soon,'  said 
the  little  girl  brightly,  much  comforted.  '  Because 
the  Bible  says,  "  Them  that  sleep  in  Jesus,  will 
God  bring  with  him."  "  And  it  shall  be  said  in 
that  day,"  Eunice  went  on,  joining  texts  as  she 
had  heard  her  mother  do, — "  It  shall  be  said  in 
that  day,  Lo,  this  is  our  God:  we  have  waited  for 
him."  Mother  says  waiting  for  God,  is  just  like 
resting  on  something  that  can  never,  never  give 
way.' 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

'  Midget,'  said  Miss  Jane  suddenly,  '  how  in  the 
world  can  you  stow  away  so  many  great  words  in 
your  small  head  ?  ' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  219 

'  0  I  read  'em  to  mother  so  often,'  said  Eunice, 
with  a  contented  folding  of  her  hands.  '  You 
see  mother  has  to  sew  every  minute,  when  she 
can  get  work.  And  so  of  course  she  can't  read 
much.  I  read  to  her.  And  then  when  it  gets  too 
dark  to  see,  1  repeat  things  to  her, — and  she  tells 
things  to  me. 

'  Bible  things  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'  0  yes,'  said  Eunice, — '  all  sorts  of  things.  But 
Bible  things  most.  She  likes  them  best.  I  guess 
they  rest  her.' 

At  this  moment  a  shadow  crossed  the  window, 
and  Eunice  sprang  up  and  ran  to  the  door  to  way- 
lay David  and  tell  him  all  the  wonderful  things 
that  had  come  to  pass.  And  so  eager  was  the  talk, 
that  she  never  heard  Miss  Jane  come  out  behind 
her;  nor  knew  she  was  there,  until  she  saw  David 
straighten  up  and  make  his  bow.  Then  Eunice 
turned  round. 

'This  is  Davy,  Miss  Jane,'  she  said.  'And  0 
Davy,  Miss  Jane  has  been  such  a  help  ! ' 

'Stuff!'  said  Miss  Jane  promptly.  'I  haven't 
been  a  bit  of  help.  It  was  all  my  uncle  the  magi- 
cian. But  I  am  very  glad  to  see  David,  because  he 
can  be  useful.  I  want  you  to  come  and  stay  here 
tomorrow,  David,  all  day;  to  see  that  Mrs.  Keith 


220  CROSS  COKMERS. 

does  not  tire  herself  looking  after  this  child.  Will 
you  ? ' 

'  O  Davy,  say  yes ! '  cried  Eunice.  But  David 
shook  his  head. 

'  I  wish  I  could,'  he  said :  '  I'd  like  no  better. 
But  I  can't,  ma'am, — not  possibly.' 

'Why  not?' 

'  Because,  ma'am,  I  must  be  in  farmer  Jacobs' 
field  to  turn  hay. ' 

'  What  will  he  pay  you  for  it  ? ' 

'Fifty  cents.' 

'  Well  see,'  said  Miss  Jane, — '  you  shall  have 
three  times  that  if  you  will  stay  here.' 

Little  Eunice  looked  up  so  eagerly,  that  David 
smiled  at  her ;  though  his  own  cheek  had  flushed  too. 

'  I  can't  do  it,  ma'am,'  he  repeated.  '  I'm  very 
sorry — bnt  Mr.  Jacobs  counts  on  seeing  me  in  his 
hayfield  at  five  o'clock  tomorrow  morning.' 

'  Five  o'clock  ! '  said  Miss  Jane  ; — '  and  fifty 
cents!  And  you  won't  disappoint  him  for  thrice 
the  money.  Well,  I  suppose  that  is  part  of  the 
stuff  good  ministers  are  made  of  Can't  you  send 
him  word  ? ' 

'  Too  late,  ma'am.  And  there's  no  other  boy  in 
town  he  can  get,'  David  added  witli  a  smile,  seeing 
a  further  question  in  Miss  Jane's  eyes. 


CKOSS  CORNERS.  221 

'  Not  any  other  buy  like  Davy,  you  know,'  little 
Eunice  explained,  with  an  emphasis  that  made 
David  redden  once  more. 

'  I  believe  that,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  Have  you 
been  up  since  five  o'clock  today  ?  ' 

'  At  work  since  five,  David  answered.  '  Up  since 
four.' 

'  Dinner  in  the  field  ? ' 

'  Yes  ma'am.' 

'  Well  why  in  the  world,'  broke  forth  Miss  Jane, 
'  do  you  do  such  a  fearful  day's  work  for  so  little 
pay?' 

'  I  take  what  I  can  get,'  the  boy  answered  simply. 
'  You  know,  ma'am,'  he  added  with  a  bright  smile: 
'  "  That  thou  givest  them,  they  gather."  ' 

Now  ^liss  Jane  did  not  know,  and  had  maybe 
never  heard  the  words  in  all  her  life ;  yet  she  was 
sure  on  the  instant  where  they  came  from  and 
what  David  meant.  So  he  was  another  !  What  a 
boy  this  would  be,  to  take  care  of  her  horse,  and  fol- 
low her  about  in  her  rides  over  the  country  ! 
'  Are  you  in  a  hurry  ?  ' 
'  No  ma'am.' 

'  Then  come  in  and  let  me  talk  to  you.' 
David  followed  her  in,  but  Eunice  was  very  un- 
easy over  this  arrangement. 


222  CKOSS  CORA'ERS. 

'  You  rausn't  keep  him  long/  she  said,  with  a 
wise  shake  of  the  head.  '  Because  if  you  do,  he'll 
lose  his  supper.  They  won't  wait  a  minute  for  him 
at  Mrs.  Crusty 's.' 

'  He  won't  lose  it  tonight,'  said  Miss  Jane  confi- 
dently. And  then  with  one  of  her  mysterious 
nods,  she  stooped  down  by  Eunice  and  whispered, 

'We'll  give  it  to  him  here!' — With  which  piece 
of  news  Eunice  was  so  much  delighted,  that  the 
little  difficulty  of  there  being  no  '  supper '  in  the 
house,  did  not  trouble  her  at  all. 

'  I  dare  say  when  mother  wakes  up,  she'll  give 
me  some  money,'  thought  the  little  girl.  '  And  then 
Davy  would  go  and  help  me  get  it.  Because  I 
suppose  we'd  want  two  loaves  of  bread,  and  maybe  a 
whole  quart  of  milk,  and  some  tea.' 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

Eunice  had  just  settled  herself  comfortably  on 
her  little  bench  to  listen  to  this  new  conversation, 
which  also  promised  to  be  interesting,  when  there 
came  a  knock  at  the  door;  and  there  to  be  sure 
was  Miss  Janes  footman,  with  a  big  basket  on  his 
arm,  which  Eunice  was  at  once  set  to  unpack.  And 
it  was  such  an  astonishing  basket,  and  it  was  such 
a  bewildering  piece  of  work  to  empty  it  and  put 
the  things  away,  that  Eunice  presently  forgot 
everything  else.  She  did  not  hear  a  word  of  all 
that  Miss  Jane  said  to  David;  she  never  knew 
when  David  went  out  for  fresh  water,  and  made  up 
the  fire  and  slung  on  the  kettle  again.  Not  a  bit 
of  it  all.  Such  a  handful  as  that  basket  did  not 
come  every  day;  and  Eunice  made  the  most  of  it. 
Looking  at  everything  before  she  took  it  out,  turn- 
ing it  in  her  hand,  then  putting  it  in  place — then 
standing  back  to  look  again.     With  gestures,  and 

exclamations,    and  little  laughs  of  pleasure,  that 

(223) 


L'24  CROSS  CORXERS. 

would  have  done  anybody's  heart  good  to  see. 
Pink  spots  grew  and  deepened  in  her  cheeks;  and 
by  and  by  pleasure  came  to  be  such  a  serious 
thing,  that  the  child  looked  as  if  she  had  the 
weight  of  the  nation  on  her  shoulders.  Important, 
busy,  and  as  gr^ve  as  a  uidire ;  oniy  now  and  then — 
as  she  said  afterwards,  'she  had  to  laugh.' 

For  here  were  eggs  to  be  stowed  away  where 
they  should  not  roll, — '  real  eggs'  —  as  Eunice 
remarked  to  herself  with  one  of  her  airy  gestures. 
There  was  a  large  pat  of  butter  to  be  put  in  a  cool 
place;  there  was  brown  bread  and  white  bread  to 
go  in  the  tin  box.  There  was  a  beefsteak  to  fill  one 
dish,  and  a  piece  of  cold  roastbeef  for  the  other. 
With  sugar  and  tea,  a  bottle  of  milk  and  a  loaf  of 
cake;  and — yes,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it — a 
real  custard  pie  hid  away  between  two  tin  pans. 
But  when  this  point  was  reached;  and  taking  out 
the  pans  she  found  that  they  had  rested  on  a  bed 
of  sweet  potatoes;  —  then  indeed  Eunice  laughed. 
Laughed  with  such  a  ring  of  childish  pleasure  and 
surprise  that  the  sound  came  round  the  closet  door, 
and  the  other  two  stopped  talking  and  turned  to 
listen. 

That  was  a  crisis.     Eunice  left  the  potatoes  in 
the  basket,  and  flew  out  of  the  closet  and  into  her 


CROSS  CORNERS.  225 

mother's  room ;  where  fortunately  she  found  Mrs. 
Keith  awake,  and  looking  much  refreshed  by  her 
long  sleep. 

Eunice  poured  out  her  wonderful  story  of  the 
closet;  her  eyes  growing  wet  and  her  lips  trem- 
bling before  she  got  through. 

'  0  mother,'  she  cried,  '  it  makes  me  want  to  beg 
God's  pardon  a  great,  great  many  times  ! ' 

"  A  fair  day  seemeth  to  be  all  made  of  faith  and 
patience.'' — 

The  wise  old  words  came  to  Mrs.  Keith's  mind 
as  Eunice  spoke ;  but  she  did  not  give  her  child 
any  lessons  of  grown-up  experience  just  then. 
She  drew  Eunice  close  into  her  arms,  saying 
only, 

'  Yes,  love.     Trust  the  Lord  alivays.' 

'  I  cannot  imagine.  Midget,'  said  Miss  Jane  com- 
ing in  at  this  moment,  '  what  you  mean  by  rush- 
ing in  here  to  wake  your  mother  up,  when  I  set 
you  to  unpack  that  basket.' 

'I  have  unpacked  it,' — said  Eunice,  laying  the 
other  cheek  against  her  mother's.  '  And  mother 
was  awake,  Miss  Jane.' 

'Then  let  her  go  right  to  sleep  again,  and  do 
you  go  out  and  get  supper.  It  would  take  six  fire- 
flies to  keep  track  of  you.  David  is  famished  after 
ifi 


226  CA'OSS  COA\V£/iS. 

his  day's  Avork,  and  the  kettle  is  boiling  itself  to 
death,  and  you  are  here  Ijnng  in  bed.' 

'  No,  I  wasn't  in,'  said  Eunice  jumping  down 
with  a  laugh;  'I  was  only  on,  Miss  Jane.' 

'  Be  off  then,  at  once,'  said  Miss  Jane,  '  and  teach 
David  how  to  cook  his  supper.  I  don't  believe  he 
knows  a  bit  about  it.' 

'  0  yes  he  does.  Davy  can  cook  heautifvEy,^  said 
Eunice,  running  away.  '  But  what  shall  I  cook, 
Miss  Jane  ?  '  she  said,  stopping  short  at  the  door. 

*  What  have  you  got  ? ' 

Nothing  loth,  Eunice  went  over  the  treasure- 
list  again,  checking  it  off  on  her  fingers.  And 
Miss  Jane  listened  gravely;  watching  the  eager 
little  face,  and  rather  wondering  within  herself 
that  she  had  never  found  out  before  how  sweet  it 
is  to  make  even  one  child  happy. 

'  Your  mother,'  she  said  then,  '  requires  beef- 
steak. So  do  I.  If  there  is  any  left  after  we  have 
enough,  you  and  David  can  have  it.' 

'  But  must  I  cook  it  all  ? '  said  the  little  girl,  her 
face  growing  grave  with  the  momentous  question. 

'All  ?  yes  of  course.  What  is  the  child  think- 
ing of  ?     All  ?     Why,  is  there  more  than  one  ?  ' 

More  than  one !  —  more  than  a  whole  beef- 
steak ! 


CROSS  CORNERS,  227 

'  And  plenty  of  sweet  potatoes,  mind,'  Miss 
Jane  added,  watching  her.  Now  '  plenty '  and 
'  sweet  potatoes '  had  never  before  met,  even  in 
Eunice  Keith's  imagination.  She  vanished  wdth- 
out  another  word. 

For  Miss  Jane,  that  is  ; — but  surely  her  tongue 
ran  fast  enough  to  David, 

'  And  0  Davy,  she  concluded,  '  do  you  suppose 
she  will  have  the  custard  pie  too  ?  ' 

Miss  Jane  meanwhile  stepped  lightly  about  the 
little  bedroom,  wdth  a  show  of  setting  things  to 
rights,  but  really  doing  some  quite  hard  thinking. 
She  lost  not  an  expression  of  Mrs.  Keith's  face ; 
she  saw  the  eyes  flush  as  they  followed  Eunice ; 
she  saw  them  look  up  with  such  evident  sight, 
that  now  Miss  Jane  stood  still  and  looked  at  her. 

'  Midget  is  a  splendid  child,'  she  said  then.  The 
mother  answered  yes. 

'  How  did  you  ever  make  her  such  a  wise,  pa- 
tient little  thing  ? '   Mrs.  Keith  smiled. 

'  I  do  not  think  Eunice  is  particularly  patient,' 
she  said. 

'Twice  as  patient  as  1  am — three  times,'  said  the 
young  lady.  '  See  how  she  will  wait  for  her  din- 
ner, or  her  breakfast, — and  then  take  what  she 
can  get.     0  I  beg  your  pardon  ! ' — cried  Miss  Jane, 


228  CROSS  CORNERS. 

recollecting  herself;  '  but  Midget  told  me  the  tale 
of  yesterday's  doings.' 

'  You  need  not  beg  pardon,'  Mrs.  Keith  said 
with  a  smile  ;  'it  is  all  true.  For  two  years  we 
have  been  in  great  straits,  and  the  child  has 
been  literally  obliged  to  take  what  she  could 
get.' 

'  Well,  that's  what  I  say,'  remarked  Miss  Jane 
coming  nearer,  '  and  she's  so  patient.  Her  face  is 
just  as  sweet  as  a  rose,  and  mine  would  be  in  forty 
wrinkles.' 

The  mother's  eyes  filled  again,  but  she  turned 
the  words  away  from  Eunice. 

'■  My  dear,'  she  said,  '  when  you  learn  to  take 
everything  straight  from  the  Lord's  hand,  there  is 
peace,   and  not  friction.' 

'  Suppose  he  gives  you  nothing  ? ' 

'  That  never  happens.  "  He  that  waiteth  on  him 
shall  not  be  confounded."' 

'There  you  come  round  to  the  waiting  again,' 
said  Miss  Jane.  '  I've  tried  waiting,  and  I  don't 
like  it.' 

'  I  said  "  waiteth  on  Him,'' '  Mrs.  Keith  repeat- 
ed gently. 

'  0  I  know — and  T  suppose  I  didn't  do  that.* 

'  There  is  no  other  way  that  is  worth  a  straw,' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  229 

said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  Waiting  alone  is  dreary  work 
indeed.' 

'  Waiting  alone.'  Did  this  woman  then,  so 
stripped  of  everything  else,  did  she  really  think 
the  Lord  of  earth  and  heaven  was  at  her  right 
hand  in  all  the  long  hours  of  waiting  ?  Her  words 
seemed  to  say  it;  her  face  yet  more.  Miss  Jane 
came  another  step  towards  the  bed,  gazing  at  her. 

'  How  long  must  one  ever  wait  ? '  she  said. 

A  wonderful  sweet  and  tender  smile  lit  up  Mrs. 
Keith's  face.     She  answered  slowly: 

'  "  Dost  thou  ask,  '  Wltea  comes  Ms  hour  ?  ' 
''  Then,  when  it  shall  serve  thee  best. 

"  Trust  his  faithfulness  and  power  : 
"  Trust  in  him,  and  quiet  rest. 

"  Suffer  on,  and  hope,  and  wait ; — 
"  Jesus  never  comes  too  late."  ' 

But  now  Miss  Jane  turned  short  about. 

'  My  uncle  desired  that  you  should  not  get  up 
tonight,  Mrs.  Keith,'  she  said;  'and  I  must  go  and 
see  after  that  cookery.' 


CHAPTER  XX. 

So  Miss  Jane  marched  out  to  the  next  room  to 
see  what  was  going-  on  there;  although  —  really 
and  truly,  as  the  children  say  —  she  knew  rather 
less  of  cooking  than  of  most  other  things. 

It  was  a  pretty  picture,  if  a  homely  one.  David 
was  stirring  up  his  fire  and  piling  on  chips;  Eu- 
nice stood  by  the  table  vigourously  washing  sweet 
potatoes;  ai)d  the  red  steak  on  the  white  dish 
looked  entirely  willing  to  be  broiled,  and  play  its 
part. 

'  Now  what  will  you  do  with  your  potatoes  ? ' 
said  Miss  Jane,  bound  to  put  her  finger  in  some- 
where.     'They  must  be  baked,  you  know.' 

'  O  yes,  Miss  Jane,'  cried  Eunice  eagerly,  turn- 
ing round;  '  we  know.  But  there  isn't  any  oven, 
and  so  Davy's  going  to  roast  them.' 

'  Roast  them  !  '  said  Miss  Jane  looking  about  her. 
'  On  the  toasting  fork  ?    They'll  take  forever,  child.' 

David    choked     back    a    laugh,  stooping    down 

(2:^0) 


CJ?OSS  CORNERS.  231 

there  over  his  chips;  but  Eunice  only  said  with 
great  glee, 

'  We'll  shew  you,  Miss  Jane.     Now  Davy.' 

She  ran  to  the  closet  for  a  piece  of  nice  brown 
paper;  and  David,  coming  to  the  table,  began  to 
Avrap  up  each  potato  carefully  and  close  in  a 
brown  paper  great  coat.  Then  he  made  a  deep 
hole  in  the  hot  ashes,  dipped  each  potato  in  cold 
water,  and  laid  them  side  by  side  in  the  hole. 
Then  he  covered  them  all  up  with  ashes ;  and  then 
on  top  of  the  ashes  heaped  hot  coals.  Miss  Jane 
looked  on  with  great  interest. 

'  I  am  curious  to  see  what  they  will  be  like 
when  they  come  out,'  she  said.  '  And  now  are 
you  going  to  smother  the  steak  in  the  other  cor- 
ner ? ' 

David  laughed  and  said  no ;  and  Eunice  brought 
out  her  little  gridiron,  but  it  was  too  soon  to  use 
that  yet.  The  potatoes  must  have  a  good  start 
first.  So  Eunice  set  her  table;  and  David  went 
out  and  ran  down  to  the  meadow  for  a  handful  of 
blue-eyed  forget-me-nots;  because  he  had  heard 
Eunice  say  that  Miss  Jane  liked  them.  He 
brought  water  cresses  too :  so  that  the  little  table 
looked  as  fresh  as  a  May  morning. 

It  was  really  a  long  June  afternoon.     So  cool. 


232  CROSS  CORNERS. 

that  the  fire  felt  pleasant;  so  long,  that  the  sun- 
beams lingered  and  lingered,  as  if  loth  to  quit  the 
brown  earth.  The  sweet  potatoes  carae  out  of  the 
ashes  in  a  state  of  great  perfection :  the  steak  was 
done  as  steaks  never  are  except  over  live  coals; — ■ 
the  little  party  were  joyous.  David  was  not  at  all 
too  big  a  boy  to  take  every  bit  of  the  fun ;  and 
Miss  Jane  was  as  well  amused  as  she  had  ever  been 
in  her  life.  As  for  Eunice,  nothing  hindered  her 
smiling  all  the  time,  but  the  sheer  weight  of  re- 
sponsibility. 

'  Will  you  have  brown  bread  or  white  bread, 
iVIiss  Jane? '  she  had  asked; — and  when  Miss  Jane 
briskly  said,  '  Both,  of  course ; ' — Eunice  went  for 
the  two  whole  loaves,  with  a  shake  of  the  head 
which  told  of  many  thoughts. 

First  of  all,  Mrs.  Keith  was  served;  but  as  she 
coidd  sit  up  in  bed  and  take  care  of  herself,  that 
was  a  short  delay.  Then  when  the  others  drew 
round  the  table,  the  dignity  with  which  Eunice 
took  the  head  and  gave  David  the  foot,  putting 
Miss  Jane  at  the  side  as  a  visitor,  was  good  to  see. 
She  bade  David  ask  the  blessing;  and  then  it  must 
be  owned,  ]\Iiss  Jane  for  a  little  forgot  everything 
else.  For  the  boy's  few  words  of  praise  and  pray- 
er were  as  simple  as  a  child's,  but  as  real  as  if  he 


CROSS  CORNERS.  233 

felt  himself  in  the  Presence  Chamber.  These  peo- 
ple, who  as  Miss  Jane  would  say,  had  nothing  to 
live  upon  on  earth,  were  so  much  more  at  home  in 
heaven  than  any  people  she  knew.  Eunice,  and 
Mrs.  Keith,  and  now  David.  Perhaps  what  struck 
her  most  of  all,  was  the  gladness  of  it.  Their  eyes 
seemed  to  brighten  and  their  voices  take  a  new- 
ring  with  every  look  that  way.  This  blessing — or 
'  grace,'  as  she  would  have  called  it — was  no  form 
of  respect  or  propriety;  but  a  sweet  aside,  as  it 
were,  out  of  life's  commonplace  into  the  glorious 
things  of  the  City  of  God.  She  saw  it  in  David's 
face,  she  heard  it  in  little  Eunice's  sigh  of  content. 
There  were  better  things  than  a  full  meal;  and 
richer  things  than  Miss  Jane's  diamond  soli- 
taires;— for  "man  doth  not  live  by  bread  alone." 

Miss  Jane  looked  and  listened,  and  lost  not  a 
bit  of  the  effect;  and  if  Eunice  had  not  been  so 
eager  and  affectionate  in  her  care  and  her 
questions,  I  doubt  whether  to  this  day  Miss  Jane 
could  have  told  how  sweet  potatoes  roasted  in  the 
ashes  do  really  taste.  But  as  it  was,  altogether  that 
supper  was  a  great  success.  David  staid  a  little 
while  longer  to  help  Eunice  clear  away  her  dishes ; 
and  Miss  Jane  sat  on  the  doorstep  and  watched 
them  and  the  moon  by  turns. 


234  CROSS  CORNERS. 

She  marched  into  the  next  room  after  that,  and 
briefly  announced  that  she  was  going  to  stay  all 
night; — and  though  Mrs.  Keith  raised  many  objec- 
tions and  spoke  many  negatives,  ^liss  Jane  heed- 
ed them  not  a  whit. 

'  I  am  going  to  stay — '  she  repeated,  when  Mrs. 
Keith  had  finished  her  protest.  '  And  I  am  sur- 
prised that  you  should  make  any  objections.  You 
might  like  somebody  else  better;  but  you  know  as 
well  as  you  want  to  know  anything,  that  God  sent 
7Aie.  Or  I  should  never  have  come,'  ended  Miss 
Jane,  with  a  nod  of  her  head. 

Mrs.  Keith  laughed  a  little,  though  her  eyes 
tilled  too;  but  she  said  no  more;  and  Miss  Jane 
had  her  way,  and  played  autocrat  to  her  heart's 
content.  She  sent  Eunice  oif  to  bed  at  the  proper 
time;  wrapped  herself  in  her  shawl  and  made  quite 
a  nest  in  the  old  rocking  chair  with  pillow  and 
blanket  (only  she  shivered  to  see  how  thin  that 
clean,  carefully-kept  blanket  was);  and  might 
have  been  asleep  in  ten  minutes,  but  for  the  soft 
murmur  of  voices  in  the  next  room.  Eunice  had 
left  the  door  a  little  open,  according  to  custom ; 
and  though  the  first  little  chatter  was  lost  in  the 
small  bustle  of  Miss  Jane's  own  arrangements;  by 
the  time  she  had  fairly  tucked  herself  up  the  talk 


CROSS  CORNERS.  235 

liad  ceased,  and  Eunice  was —  what?  reading 
aloud  ?  No,  the  book  was  here, — Miss  Jane  looked 
round  to  see.  That  child  was  absolutely  repeat- 
ing, verse  after  verse  out  of  the  Bible.  The  little 
voice  went  clearly  on,  from  '  The  Lord  is  my  Shep- 
ard  '  to,  '  Surely — I  shall  dwell  in  the  house  of  the 
Lord  for  ever.'  And  then  after  a  moment's  pause 
the  other  voice  took  up  the  word  ;  but  now  it  was 
prayer.  Simple,  loving,  childlike, — as  if  she  had 
been  a  child  herself— so  Mrs.  Keith's  words  sound- 
ed to  Miss  Jane  as  she  listened.  Listened,  at  last 
to  hear  herself  prayed  for;  and  such  guerdon 
claimed  for  her,  for  what  she  had  done,  that  Miss 
Jane  hid  her  face  in  shame.  For  what  had  she 
(ione — now  or  ever?  But  the  psalm  came  back  to 
her  after  that;  and  Miss  Jane  fell  asleep  with  the 
*  surely '  sounding  in  her  ears.  She  wished  that 
'  surely  '  were  her  own. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  old  doctor's  care  of  the  hurt  finger  was  a  great 
success.  He  came  several  times  more,  to  see  how 
the  work  went  on,  but  there  was  no  further  need 
of  sharp  remedies.  The  hand  must  lie  idle,  indeed, 
for  some  time  to  come  ;  and  strength  which  the 
pain  had  carried  away  came  back  but  slowly;  yet 
the  paiu  itself  was  about  gone  too,  and  did  not 
come  back  at  all. 

Miss  Jane  meanwhile,  did  her  part  as  well  as  the 
magician  had  done  his.  She  bought  all  the  ber- 
ries, cresses,  and  flowers,  that  Eunice  could  bring; 
and  the  little  basket  never  went  home  empty. 
Miss  Jane  never  gave  Eunice  anything  but  trifles 
to  carry,  but  they  were  delightful  trifles.  Oranges 
and  fresh  eggs,  a  fresh  sponge  cake  or  a  dozen 
rolls, — once  some  white  grapes — once,  to  Eunice's 
great  delight,  a  bottle  of  Cologne; — several  times 
a  pound  of  such  tea  as  could  not  be  bought  in  the 

village.     For  Miss  Jane  had  never  forgotten  that 
(236) 


CROSS  CORNERS.  237 

dismayed  look  at  the  empty  tea  caddy,  and  so 
kept  sending  and  sending.  A  pound  of  tea,  she 
knew,  would  not  last  her  long.  But  many  a  large 
basket,  more  heavily  freighted,  came  between 
whiles,  by  the  hand  of  the  uncivil  groom;  who 
now  however  always  brought  what  manners  he 
had,  to  the  cottage,  seeing  that  his  mistress  made 
such  a  fuss  over  the  people  who  lived  there.  Eu- 
nice looked  at  the  baskets  rather  gravely  some- 
times, though  she  was  now  too  entirely  devoted 
to  Miss  Jane  to  say  a  word.  But  Mrs.  Keith  took 
it  all  in  truer  child-fashion,  straight  from  the 
hand  of  her  Father  in  heaven.  "  Your  Father 
knoweth  that  ye  have  need  of  such  things;" — 
he  knew  and  he  had  sent  them :  that  was  all. 
"  How  sweet  is  the  wind  that  bloweth  out  of 
the  aii'th  where  Christ  is ! "  wrote  old  Samuel 
Eutherford.  0  if  people  only  knew  !  For  "  blow 
it  east,  or  blow  it  west,"  there  is  no  difference 
about  that. 

It  was  a  gay  time  for  Eunice.  No  ugly  shoe- 
binding  work  about;  no  black  line  across  her 
mother's  fingers.  Talks  in  the  evening  and  read- 
ing by  day,  with  even  now  and  then  a  walk  to- 
gether out  among  the  fields.  The  talks  were  long, 
but  the  walks  were  short; — for  life  had   been   a 


238  CROSS  CORXERS. 

struggle  for  the  last  two  years,  and  Mrs.  Keith  was 
more  run  down  than  she  knew. 

It  came  to  pass,  one  of  the  very  first  days  when 
Eunice  had  coaxed  her  mother  out,  that  old  Dr. 
Magic — bowling  along  from  point  to  point — met 
the  two  as  they  were  just  near  home.  With  a  doc- 
tor's eye  he  noted  the  frolicsome  feet  of  the  one  and 
the  slow,  languid  steps  of  the  other;  checked  his 
horses,  put  a  cheery  question  or  two;  and  then  turn- 
ing short  about  he  rattled  away  to  Cross  Corners. 

Everything  there  was  in  a  lively  state  of  pre- 
paration. The  black  horses  stood  pawing  and 
champing  before  the  door;  the  uncivil  grooni  with 
an  immense  bouquet  of  daisies  on  his  coat,  stood 
waiting  to  let  down  the  steps;  and  from  upstairs 
came  a  chatter  of  voices  and  the  sound  of  running 
al>out.  Dr  Magic  brought  his  horses  to  a  stand, 
and  shouted. 

' Jane ! * 

Immediately  three  heads  popped  out  of  the  two 
windows. 

'  0  it's  uncle  Magic  ! '  cried  Miss  Ada  and  Miss 
Julia  both  at  once.     '  We'll  be  down  directly.' 

'  I  don't  want  you,'  said  the  doctor.  'Stay  where 
you  are,  and  go  on  with  your  prinking.  I  want 
Jane.' 


C/^OSS  CO/iuV£A'S.  23'.) 

'  Well  I'm  only  half  prinked,  myself,'  said  Jane, 
drawing  her  head  in  and  running  down  to  the 
carriage,  —  '  and  the  wedding's  at  one.  What  is 
the  matter  now,  sir  ?  ' 

'  The  wedding  ! '  repeated  the  doctor,  surveying 
the  gauzy  creature  that  stood  by  his  side.  '  1 
should  think,  from  appearances,  you  were  off  for 
the  butterfly's  ball.' 

'  No  such  thing,  sir.  I'm  off  to  see  a  man  made 
happy — and  a  woman  contrariwise  no.' 

The  old  doctor  stroked  his  hand  down  over  his 
face,  laughing  at  her. 

'Much you  know  about  it,'  he  said. 

'  I  know  I  wouldn't  trust  that  man  with  my  lap 
dog,'  said  Miss  Jane  briskly. 

'  If  you  had  one.  Well  —  take  all  the  care  you 
can  of  what  you  haven't  got.  But  if  you're  looking 
out  so  sharp  for  the  women,  I'll  give  you  one  to 
look  after.' 

'  Don't,  sir.     I  ve  got  myself.' 

'  I  shall  be  glad,  for  one,  when  somebody  comes 
home  to  look  after  you,'  said  the  old  doctor  with  a 
kindly  smile.  '  But  the  woman  I  mean  is  Mrs. 
Keith.' 

Miss  Jane  stood  back  and  gazed  at  him  in  open- 
eyed  astonishment. 


240  CROSS  CORA-ERS. 

'  Mrs.  Keith  ?'  she  said.  '  Why  it  isn't  an  hour 
since  I  packed  her  oft"  a  whole  basket  of  the  very 
nicest  things  I  could  find  in  the  house.' 

'  There  she  goes  !  — '  said  Dr.  Magic  with  a 
shade  of  impatience  in  his  tone.  'Practical  philan- 
thropy on  high  heeled  shoes,  the  world  over.' 

'  "  There  was  an  old  woiiiau, 

"  Ami  what  do  yon  tliiiik  ? 
"  She  lived  upon  nothing 

"  But  victuals  and  drink  ! 
"  Victuals  and  drink 

"  Was  the  chief  of  her  diet, — 
"  And  yet  this  old  woman 

"  Could  never  be  quiet  "  ! ' 

Miss  Jane  looked  at  him. 

'  Instead  of  sitting  there,  sir,  talking  about  my 
heels  —  which  are  no  higher  than  other  peo- 
ple's,—  you  had  much  better  say  what  you  want  me 
to  do.     What  ails  Mrs.  Keith  ?     Isn't  she  quiet  ? ' 

'  Too  quiet.     Send  her  some  spice.' 

♦Spice!—' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  old  doctor.  '  Cinnamon,  nutmeg, 
alspice,  cloves,  and  ginger.  Cardamous,  and  carra- 
way  seeds.  It's  too  late  for  today,  as  that  wedding's 
at  one;  but  you  see  to  it  that  those  lazy  black 
horses  of  yours  carry  her  down  a  good  consign- 
ment toiiKHrow.' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  241 

And  Dr.  Magic  gave  his  own  horses  a  touch  of  the 
whip  that  sent  them  flying. 

Good  for  Miss  Jane  that  she  had  a  quick  wit  and 
a  clear  head.  And  so,  though  for  the  moment  the 
wedding  —  and  the  prinking  —  claimed  all  her  at- 
tention; yet  off  and  on  through  the  next  twelve 
hours.  Miss  Jane  worked  away  at  the  old  doctor's 
riddle.  And  by  patiently  keeping  before  her  the 
two  leading  ideas  —  '  spice '  and  '  lazy  black 
horses,' —  the  young  lady  at  last  wrought  out  an 
answer  clear  and  exact  enough  for  a  mathematician. 

Spice  —  and  lazy  black  horses ;  —  there  could  be 
no  doubt  about  it;  Dr.  Magic  meant  she  should  send 
]\lrs.  Keith  to  drive  in  her  own  carriage.  There 
was  also  no  doubt  that  Miss  Jane  did  not  like  the 
idea.  But  why  not  ?  Well  —  she  did  not  want 
that  sort  of  people  seen  driving  about  in  her  phae- 
ton. For  it  was  Miss  Jane's  own  particular  pos- 
session, that  turnout, —  horses,  coachman,  and  all. 
But  what  sort  of  people  then  were  they  ?  Quite  as 
neat  as  herself.  Miss  Jane  confessed, —  and  much 
better  behaved:  for  aught  she  knew,  even  better 
read.  In  the  course  of  her  talks  with  Mrs.  Keith, 
Miss  Jane  had  found  out  that  that  woman  with 
the  cloudless  eyes  knew  a  good  many  things  be- 
sides the  Bible.  What  was  the  matter  then  ?  why 
16 


242  C/^OSS  CORNERS. 

should  she  not  go  to  drive  in  Miss  Jane's  carriage  ? 
It  could  be  only,  Miss  Jane  at  last  owned  to  her- 
self, because  she  worked  for  her  living  and  did  not 
wear  satin  and  silk. 

Whereupon,  having  made  this  discovery,  Miss 
Jane  said  '  Pshaw  I' — with  such  a  vigourous  stamp  of 
Ikt  little  foot  as  settled  the  question,  and  startled 
Miss  Ada  and  Miss  Julia  (they  said)  half  out  of 
their  wits.  Then  she  rang  for  the  coachman  and 
gave  him  his  orders  on  the  spot. 

Dr.  Magic's  eyes  had  seen  true.  Mrs.  Keith  was 
much  more  in  need  of  '  spice '  than  anybody  else 
had  guessed.  For  however  the  inward  man  may 
grow  strong,  the  outward  wastes  under  the  chisel- 
ling of  sorrow.  The  pressure  of  need  which  had 
followed  the  loss  of  two  years  ago,  had  for  the  time 
acted  as  a  tonic,  and  braced  Mrs,  Keith's  energies 
for  her  incessant  work.  But  now,  for  a  while,  work 
was  impossible:  and  with  the  taking  off  of  the 
strain  came  a  physical  flagging  which  the  doctor 
had  perceived.  Her  short  walk  }'esterday  had 
tired  her;  and  now  today,  she  thought  she  would 
be  still  and  rest. 

'  But  you're  always  resting  now !  '  cried  Eunice. 
'  And  you  used  to  say  if  it  wasn't  for  the  shoes  you 
could  go  and  walk  !  ' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  243 

'  Maybe  I  will,  this  afternoon,'  the  mother  said, 
caressing  her.  '  Now  love,  let  us  have  our  morn- 
ing psalm,  first  of  all.  It  is  the  hundred  and 
twenty  first  psalm,  today.' 

'  "  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from 
whence  cometh  my  help." '  —  Eunice  paused. 

'  I  don't  understand  that,  one  bit,'  she  said. 
'  He  didn't  know  what  was  on  top  of  the  hills. 
Might  have  been  tigers — or  bears — or  Indians.' 

'  No,  he  did  not  know.  When  you  hioiv,  you  do 
not  trust.  But  look  across  at  the  125th  Psalm, 
Eunice :    the  second  verse.'     Eunice  read. 

"  As  the  mountains  are  round  about  Jerusalem, 
so  the  Lord  is  round  about  his  people  from  hence- 
forth even  for  ever." — And  Mrs.  Keith  added: 

"  I  will  be  unto  them  for  a  wall  of  defence." 

'  Yes,  that  does  explain  it  a  little,'  said  Eunice. 
'  But  still  there  might  be  all  sorts  of  things  there, 
hid  away  in  the  hills.' 

'  There  might.  But  tliey  oould  do  no  harm  to 
the  Lord's  peopi*,,  xi  the  God  of  the  hills  was 
there.' 

Eunice  drew  a  long  breath. 

'  No,  I  s'pose  they  couldn't,'  she  said.  '  But  I 
don't  like  bears.  Yes,  it  goes  on  just  as  you  say, 
mother.     "  My  help  cometh  from  the  Lord,  which 


244  CROSS  CORNERS. 

made  heaven  and  earth."  Bears  and  all — '  put  in 
Eunice  with  her  running  comment.  '  "  He  will 
not  suffer  thy  foot  to  be  moved :  he  that  keepeth 
thee  will  not  slumber."  ' 

'  Ah  how  lovely  that  is ! '  said  Mrs.  Keith. 
'  Now  you  can  see  still  better,  Eunice,  what  David 
meant.  Don't  you  know  how,  when  it  is  all  dark 
and  silent  and  asleep  in  the  valley  the  hills  rise 
up  into  the  sky  among  the  stars?  So  clear,  so 
still,  so  wakeful  ?  You  could  almost  as  soon 
imagine  the  stars  asleep,  as  those  steadfast  hill 
tops.     I  tliink  that  was  partly  what  David  meant. 

"  Those  ■watchful  eyes 
That  never  sleep, 
Shall  Israel  keep, 
\Vhen  dangers  rise."  ' 

Eunice  looked  up  at  her  mother's  fact,  silently 
nodding  her  own  little  head  once  or  twice:  then 
softly  and  reverently  read  the  next  verse. 

"Behold,  he  that  keepeth  Israel  shall  neither 
slumber  nor  sleep." 

'  A  wall  of  defence,'  she  said,  '  and  a  watch ; — is 
there  anything  else  ?  ' 

'  A  Rock.  "  For  the  mountains  shall  depart, 
and  the  hills  be  removed;  but  my  kindness  shall 
not  depart  from  thee,  neither  shall  the  covenant 


CROSS  CORNERS.  245 

of  my  peace  be  removed,  saith  the  Lord  that  hath 
mercy  on  thee." ' 

Just  here  there  came  an  interruption.  A  clat- 
ter of  horses'  hoofs,  a  rolling  of  wheels,  then  a 
knock  at  the  door.  And  there  to  be  sure  was  Miss 
Jane  with  a  bottle  of  cream  in  her  hand. 

'  No,  I  can't  sit  down,'  she  said, — '  I'm  in  a 
frightful  hurry ; — but  Dr.  Magic  thinks  you  ought 
to  go  out  rather  early  on  such  cool  days.  So  you'd 
better  get  your  dinner  ready  at  once,  ]\Iidget;  and 
the  carriage  will  be  here  for  you  at  three  o'clock. 
And  I  shall  give  the  coachman  his  orders,  where 
to  go ; — and  you  are  not  to  interfere  with  them  in 
any  way,  because  I  shall  tell  him  not  to  mind  one 
word  you  say.  Goodbye,' — and  Miss  Jane  was  off, 
without  giving  anybody  a  chance  to  speak.  It 
was  a  quick  hand  indeed,  that  could  get  in  a  word 
edgeways,  when  Miss  Jane  chose  to  keep  talking. 
Mother  and  child  looked  at  each  other.  A  drive 
in  Miss  Jane's  carriage ! — To  be  sure,  Eunice  had 
been  there  two  or  three  times  already;  but  that 
was  just  to  be  brought  home,  like  a  stray  parcel: 
this  was  to  be  a  real  drive,  with  her  mother.  While 
Mrs.  Keith  herself  was  hardly  less  pleased,  if  only 
to  see  the  joy  that  sparkled  in  her  child's  eyes. 
Neither  of  them  spoke,  and  the  first  thing  Eunice 


246  CROSS  CORNERS. 

did  (it  was  just  like  what  ]\Iiss  Jane  called  her 
'  oldfashioned  ways ')  was  to  look  down  at  her  book 
and  finish  the  psalm  she  had  been  reading.  I  sup- 
pose really  the  little  heart  was  overfull;  for  the 
child's  voice  shook  a  little  and  her  lips  worked. 

"  The  Lord  is  thy  keeper;  the  Lord  is  thy  shade 
upon  thy  right  hand. 

"  The  sun  shall  not  smite  thee  by  day  nor  the 
moon  by  night. 

"  The  Lord  shall  preserve  thee  from  all  evil;  he 
shall  preserve  thy  soul. 

"The  Lord  shall  preserve  thy  going  out  and  thy 
coming  in  from  this  time  forth,  and  even  for  ever- 
more." 

'  And  he's  done  it ! '  cried  Eunice  with  a  little 
sob  as  she  closed  her  Bible.  '  He's  just  done  it  bis 
own  self.  You  see  you  weren't  strong  enough  for 
the  going  out  and  the  coming  in ;  and  so  the  Lord's 
taken  it  all  into  his  own  hands.  0  mother, 
mother  ! '  — 

But  witli  that,  Eunice  flew  upon  Irt  mother,  and 
hugged  her  and  kissed  her  and  lialf  smothered  her 
with  caresses.  Then  with  one  of  a  child's  sudden 
changes,  she  disengaged  herself,  darted  away 
from  her  mother's  side,  and  began  to  prepare 
dinner. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

That  wonderful  drive  was  followed  by  many  others. 
And  each  time  Miss  Jane  told  the  coachman  which 
road  to  take  and  how  far  to  go ;  so  that  they  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  step  in  and  to  step  out.  But 
not  Miss  Jane,— not  Eunice  in  her  childish  glee, — 
could  even  begin  to  guess  what  these  drives  were 
to  Mrs.  Keith.  The  bodily  strength  was  much, 
that  came  with  each  such  outing;  but  the  soul  and 
mind  refreshment  was  yet  more.  One  must  have 
been  for  two  years  tied  down  to  dull,  drudging,  ill- 
paid  work,  to  even  fancy  what  such  drives  in  the 
sunshine  and  the  free  open  air  could  be.  But 
somehow,  at  first ; — perhaps  because  her  mind  had 
been  dwelling  there  even  more  than  she  knew,  in 
the  last  two  years;  —  these  bits  of  earthly  rest  just 
carried  Mrs.  Keith's  thoughts  straight  up  to  the 
endless  rest  of  heaven.  Bible  words  came  to  her 
lips  as  they  wheeled  along ;  Bible  images  were  start- 
ed by  all  she  saw. 

(247) 


248  CROSS  CORNEHS. 

'"The  gates  of  it  shall  not  be  shut  at  all  by- 
day,"'  ' —  so  she  answered  Eunice's  comment  on  the 
closed  entrance  to  some  beautiful  grounds. 

'  And  so  tliey'U  be  open  all  the  time,'  said  Eunice ; 
'  because  there  won't  be  any  night  there.  I  like 
that.  0  mother !  see  how  that  spring  tumbles  up 
out  of  the  rocks.' 

Mrs.  Keith  looked,  and  answered  in  the  same 
far-away  fashion : 

'  "  I  will  give  unto  him  that  is  athirst,  of  the 
fountain  of  the  water  of  life  freely."  ' 

'Don't  you  think  I  could  find  my  way  home 
from  here  ? '  Eunice  said  one  day,  as  the  carriage 
turned  at  some  far  off  point.  Mrs.  Keith  looked 
down  the  long  shining  road. 

'  "An  highway  shall  be  there,"'  she  said,  '  "and 
a  way :  and  it  shall  be  called,  the  way"  of  holiness. 
The  unclean  shall  not  pass  over  it:  but  it  shall 
be  for  those.  The  wayfaring  men,  though  fools, 
shall  not  err  therein." ' 

'  That  don't  tell  me  — '  said  Eunice  rather  dole- 
fully.    Mrs.  Keith  bent  down  and  kissed  her. 

'  No,  darling,'  she  said.  '  I  am  not  sure,  Eunice, 
whether  you  could  follow  the  road  back  or  not. 
You  might  easily  not  find  me,  from  any  point.  I 
might  not  be  there.     But  I  was  thinking,  love, 


CROSS  CORNERS.  249 

that  none  who  seek  the  Lord  Jesus,  in  the  way  of 
holiness,  can  ever  miss  him  but  must  always  find.' 

'And  then  I  s'pose  they  just  keep  on  with  him, 
as  Enoch  did,'  said  Eunice. 

'As  Enoch  did.  He  walked  with  God  three 
hundred  years;  until  "  he  was  not;  for  God  had 
taken  him."' 

The  carriage  roiled  along;  and  more  than  one 
passer  by  looked  and  wondered  at  the  sweet  face 
they  saw  there.  So  clear,  so  high  in  its  pure 
sweetness,  that  no  one  remarked  on  the  oldfashion- 
ed  bonnet  or  the  very  plain  gown. 

'  There  goes  Davy,  mother ! '  Eunice  suddenly 
cried  out.  '0  how  hot  and  tired  he  looks  !  Mayn't 
I  jump  out  and  run  and  tell  him  to  come  to  tea  ?  * 

Mrs.  Keith  gave  ready  permission ; — then  as  the 
coachman  stopped  and  Eunice  danced  down  the 
steps  and  along  the  road,  fell  back  into  her  mus- 
ings. 

'  "  They  shall  hunger  no  more," ' — she  thought; 
— '"neither  thirst  any  more:  neither  shall  the 
sun  light  on  them,  nor  any  heat.  For  the  Lamb 
which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  them, 
and  shall  lead  them  unto  living  fountains  of  water. 
And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes."' 


250  CROSS  CORNERS. 

But  with  that  there  came  such  a  rush  of  the 
tears  not  yet  wiped  away,  that  the  mother  was 
glad  her  child  was  down  in  the  road  and  some 
steps  distant. 

Eunice  came  back  beaming,  and  reported  David 
quite  ready  to  go  out  to  tea. 

So  passed  on  the  summer  time  for  several  weeks. 
Strawberries  grew  scarcer  and  raspberries  began 
to  be  plenty;  and  still  Eunice  picked  the  fields' 
sweet  treasures,  and  carried  them  to  Cross  Cor- 
ners; and  still  Miss  Jane's  appetite  for  them  never 
flagged.  The  little  velvet  purse  went  back  and 
forth,  doing  good  service;  and  its  quaint  little 
owner,  with  her  honest  face  and  pretty  manners, 
at  last  won  everybody  to  be  her  friend.  Miss  Ada 
gave  her  a  pincushion,  and  Miss  Julia  a  ribband 
to  tie  round  the  neck  of  the  kitten  that  had  broken 
the  tumbler.  Mrs.  Keith's  lame  hand  however 
was  still  unfit  for  work  ;  and  the  strawberry 
money  was  just  now  their  only  supply.  And  they 
couldn't  even  use  all  of  that — as  Eunice  remarked 
with  much  dissatisfaction. 

'  Mother,  I  don't  see  why  you  always  lay  by 
part  for  Mr.  Grab,'  she  said  one  day,  when  she  had 
emptied  her  little  purse  on  the  table,  and  Mrs. 
Keith  had  begun  to  portion  out  the  coin. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  251 

'  If  I  did  not  lay  by  a  little  every  day,  then  I 
should  not  have  the  month's  rent  ready  at  the  end 
of  the  month.' 

'But  you  might  take  sevaral  days  together, 
then,'  said  Eunice. 

Mrs.  Keith  shook  her  head. 

'This  is  the  sure  way,'  she  said,  'and  far  the 
easiest.' 

'  Well  then  another  thing — '  Eunice  went  on 
discontentedly.  '  Mother,  if  God  really  gives  you 
the  money,  why  do  you  just  turn  round  and  give 
part  of  it  back?     Don't  he  mean  you  to  have  it  ? ' 

For  Mrs.  Keith  had  divided  the  day's  earnings 
into  three  little  heaps;  and  one  of  them  she  now 
swept  into  the  Missionary  box. 

'  Suppose  I  would  rather  give  him  back  part  ? 
how  then  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Keith. 

'  O  well — of  course — if  you  like  it,'  said  Eunice. 
'  But  it  isn't  so  very  much,  to  begin  with, — and 
you  know  we  don't  ever  buy  the  freshest  loaves, 
now.' 

'  What  do  you  think  of  people  who  have  not 
even  a  crumb  of  the  bread  of  life  ?  ' 

'  Of  course, — I  know,' — said  Eunice  again.  '  But 
a  few  cents  can't  do  much.' 

'  Suppose    the   few   cents   bought   a   few    Bible 


252  CROSS  CORNERS. 

leaves,  that  God  blessed  to  the  saving  of  even  a. 
few  souls  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Keith.     Eunice  was  silent. 

'  Mother,'  she  said  suddenly,  '  1  wish  I  was  like 
you  and  Davy.' 

'  In  what  way  ?  ' 

'  0  I'd  like  to  feel  like  you,'  said  Eunice, — '  and  I 
don't:  I  feel  all  different.  You  and  Davy  enjoy 
every  single  thing  God  does, — it  don't  matter  a  bit 
what  it  is,  and  it  don't  matter  a  bit  whether  you 
want  it  done.  And  you're  glad  of  everything 
we've  got,  and  what  we  haven't  got.  And  you 
like  going  without  things,  and  being  sick,  and 
wearing  poor  frocks,  and  having  to  work  hard, 
and  nobody  caring  two  cents.  O  yes,  I'd  like  to 
feel  so.  But  I  don't.  And  so  I  just  grumble  and 
growl  and  make  a  fuss.     And  no  end  of  mistakes.' 

Eunice  did  not  know  why  her  mothers  eyes 
grew  wet,  nor  why  she  was  drawn  close  to  her 
mother's  breast,  while  her  mother's  head  rested  on 
hers.  Mrs.  Keith  did  not  speak  for  two  or  three 
minutes.     Then  she  said, 

*Yes  dear,  that  is  all  true.     I  am  glad  you  know 

it; 

Eunice  waited  for  more  words,  but  none  came. 
Then  she  twisted  herself  away  a  little,  so  as  to  see 
her  mother's  face. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  253 

'  Well  ? '  she  said. 

'Well  what?'  said  Mrs.  Keith  smiling  at  her. 
'  I  am  ready  to  think  my  little  daughter  has  been 
having  too  many  things,  instead  of  too  few,  lately.' 

Yes,  that  was  just  the  truth.  For  of  course  now 
Mrs.  Keith  looked  quite  well  again  ;  and  so  while 
dainties  still  came  every  now  and  then  from  Cross 
Corners  cottage,  they  came  oftenest  in  Eunice's 
own  little  basket,  and  were  just  such  as  she  could 
bring.  The  drives  too  had  ceased  ;  and  though 
Mrs.  Keith  made  a  point  of  going  out  with  Eunice 
for  a  half  hour  every  day,  somehow — for  Eunice — 
the  walks  had  lost  flavour.  And  then  she  had 
been  so  much  among  Miss  Jane's  lace  and  muslin, 
that  truth  to  say,  in  her  heart  Eunice  looked  down 
upon  calico.  There  was  a  dim  consciousness  of 
this  in  the  child's  own  mind  ;  and  so  she  coloured 
a  little  at  Mrs.  Keith's  last  words,  and  made  no 
answer  ;  but  jumped  down  from  her  mother's  lap 
and  went  to  get  ready  to  go  after  her  berries. 

Eunice  proposed  to  herself  to  try  a  new  place  this 
morning, — a  place  she  thought  no  one  knew  but 
herself.  In  one  of  her  short  cuts  across  the  fields 
to  the  Cross  Corners  cottage,  she  had  come  upon  a 
thick  fringe  of  strawberry  vines,  that  bordered  a 
bit  of   woodland.      It  was  a  somewhat    hid-away 


254  C/^OSS  CORNEHS. 

place,  even  from  tlie  sunshiue,  and  so  the  ripening 
was  sure  to  be  late  ;  but  Avhen  Eunice  first  found 
it  the  vines  were  loaded  with  fair  green  fruit,  just 
beginning  to  redden  a  little.  And  the  vines 
covered  the  ground  in  every  direction. 

'  There'll  be  enough  to  last  ]\Iiss  Jane  a  whole 
week,'  Eunice  decided,  eyeing  the  patch.  '  At 
least  if  she  don't  get  any  very  bad  headaches.' 

Once  or  twice  since  she  had  been  that  vv^ay  to 
examine  ;  and  three  days  ago  there  were  so  many 
berries  turned  from  green  to  red,  that  Eunice  felt 
sure  tiiere  would  be  a  full  harvest  to-day.  But 
alas  for  anything  that  is  called  'sure'  in  this 
world ! — Eunice  went  leisurely  along,  swinging 
her  basket,  singing  to  herself ;  until  she  had  left 
behind  her  usual  haunts,  and  struck  off  on  a  new 
road.  All  was  still  and  peaceful  as  a  summer  day 
could  be.  But  as  Eunice  turned  the  last  corner 
and  crept  under  the  fence,  an  ominous  sound  of 
voices  struck  her  ear.  She  straightened  herself  up, 
and  then  stood  quite  still.  For  her  beautiful  slope 
of  strawberry  vines,  untrampled  and  unknown, 
was  now  trodden  by  a  dozen  pairs  of  busy,  reck- 
less feet.  Not  dainty  feet,  neatly  clad  ;  but  bare 
feet  of  the  dustiest,  with  old  forlorn  looking  boots, 
and  tattered   shoes,    for   variety.      There   was    a 


CROSS  CORNERS.  255 

ragged  sunbonnet  doAvn  among  the  thickest  of  the 
fruit;  and  here  was  another, — and  here  was  a  dirty- 
cap,  and  here  was  a  shock  head  that  looked  as  if  it 
had  never  been  brushed.  Some  of  the  youngsters 
were  picking  into  old  pails,  and  one  had  a  salt  box, 
and  some  had  only  their  mouths — more  capacious 
yet.  The  little  ones  of  all  sorts  crammed  their 
mouths  full,  and  then  danced  up  and  down  and 
cleared  oif  the  fruit  in  that  way.  Such  a  picture  of 
dust  and  strawberry  juice  as  those  children  were ! 

Eunice  gazed  for  a  minute,  quite  speechless, — 
then  she  sped  swdftly  down  into  the  midst  of 
things. 

'  0  you  are  spoiling  my  berries !'  she  cried.  *  You 
have  no  business  to  come  here, — go  right  away  as 
fast  as  you  can,  this  very  minute.  They  are  my 
berries;  and  I  want  them  every  one.  O  dear, 
dear ! ' — 

The  little  ragamuffins  all  started  up  and  looked 
round  at  this,  gazing  in  their  turn. 

*  Here's  a  becoming  chicken,' — said  the  tallest 
boy.     '  Where'd  you  drop  from,  youngster?' 

'  I'm  Eunice  Keith,  and  I  found  this  place.' 

'  Don't  say  you  didn't,  chicky, — but  it's  most  a 
pity  yer  didn't  put  it  in  yer  pocket  ivhen  yer 
found  it.     I  allays  does.'     And  the  tall  boy  gave 


256  CROSS  CORNERS. 

Eunice  a  nod  of  his  shock  head  that  almost  took 
her  breath  away  with  indignation. 

'  Go  right  off,  every  one  of  you  ! '  she  cried. 
'  The  berries  are  mine.  0  dear,  dear  ! — I'm  afraid 
you've  spoiled  them  all,  already.  You  don't  know 
how  to  pick.' 

'Don't  us?'  said  a  girl,  clutching  a  handful  as 
she  spoke, and  crowding  them  into  her  mouth:  red 
ones,  green  ones,  and  blades  of  grass,  all  together. 
'  The  better  for  them  as  comes  after.  Just  you 
wait.' 

'Yes,  run  home  and  git  yer  dinner,  sissy,' said 
the  tall  boy.  '  Didn't  know  you  was  comin'  so 
early,  you  see;  but  we'll  have  it  all  raked  up  for 
yer,  like,  by  arternoon.  Might  stain  yer  stockin's 
now,  you  know.' 

'  Stockin's  !  *  cried  a  girl.  '  Shoes  and  stockin's ! 
Omy!— ' 

Eunice  stood  still,  choking  wdth  displeasure,  and 
a  little  frightened  too,  at  the  wild  faces  and  the 
shouts  of  laughter. 

'  Come  now,'  said  another  boy,  '  don't  scare  her. 
She  aint  no  sort  of  a  bad  girl, —  kind  o'  handsome, 
she  is.  Maybe  she  aint  got  no  dinner  to  go  to,  no 
more'n  we  hasn't.  See  here,  sissy,  it'll  be  share 
and  share.     Come  along  and  pick   into   yer   own 


CI^OSS   CORNERS.  257 

private  purse,  but  we  can't  allow  no  baskets:  that 
wouldn't  be  square.  No  one  can't  fetch  a  basket, 
nor  a  pail,  nor  nothin',  'cept  his  own  self,  without 
he's  got  sick  folks  or  lame  folks  to  home.  Come 
along, —  they  sha'n't  touch  yer:  Unless  they 
wants  to  jump  the  fence  back'ards,  in  the  spryest 
kind  of  a  style.'  And  the  big  boy  set  his  big  fists, 
and  looked  dark  threats  at  all  the  unruly  crowd. 

But  with  this  display  of  making  common  cause 
with  her,  the  last  shred  of  Eunice's  bravery  blew 
clear  off.  She  gazed  at  the  ragged  speaker,  her 
eyes  widening;  but  then  she  whirled  about,  dash- 
ed under  the  fence,  and  was  out  of  hearing  of  the 
shouts  and  laughter  long  before  they  had  died 
away.  On  and  on;  down  one  green  slope  and 
up  another;  over  the  brook,  through  gates, —  the 
child  hardly  knew  herself  where  she  went :  until  at 
last  she  darted  into  the  beloved  doorway,  and  lay 
sobbing  out  her  troubles  in  her  mother's  arms. 

Much  startled  at  first,  Mrs.  Keith  could  not  im- 
mediately find  out  the  matter:  and  when  at  last 
Eunice  contrived  to  tell  where  all  this  had  befallen 
her,  the  mother  was  more  alarmed  yet. 

'  My  child !  —  you  do  not  mean  that  you  went  to 

Farmer  Dent's  woods  ?     Why  that  is  clear  beyond 

our  village  line.' 
17 


258  CROSS   CORNERS. 

'0  yes,'  sobbed  Eunice, — 'it  wasn't  so  far, —  it 
isn't  ihaC 

*  You  must  never  go  there  again,' said  Mrs.  Keith 
earnestly.  '  Never,  Eunice,  do  you  hear  ?  Never 
go  near  there  without  my  special  leave.' 

'  But  the  strawberries  are  'most  gone  over  this 
way,'  said  Eunice,  sitting  up  and  wiping  her  eyes. 
'  And  what's  left  of  them  are  little  mean  things, 
—  dried  up  I  guess.  These  were  so  big !  — '  her 
lip  quivered. 

'  Never  mind,  love,'  said  the  mother  kissing  her. 
'  My  finger  is  so  much  better:  I  can  begin  on  the 
shoes  tomorrow,   I  think.' 

'  I  don't  want  you  to,'  said  Eunice :  '  I  didn't 
want  ever  to  see  any  more  shoes.  I  wanted  to  get 
all  the  money  myself 

'  But  my  unreasonable  little  daughter,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith  with  a  smile,  '  did  you  expect  to  find  berries 
all  the  year  round  ?  We  will  just  be  thankful 
there  have  been  so  many.' 

'  Yes,  you're  always  thankful,'  said  Eunice,  as  it' 
that  was  one  of  her  special  grievances. 

'  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  be  glad.'  But  in  an- 
swer to  that  Eunice  drew  a  sigh  long  enough  for 
a  grown  up  person. 

'Dear  me  I '  she  said,  'it's  very  difficult  to  get 


CEOSS  CORNERS.  259 

along  in  this  world  ! ' — Her  head  took  a  little  easi- 
er rest  on  her  mother's  shoulder.  Then  she  start- 
ed up  again. 

'  Whatever  will  Miss  Jane  say,  not  to  have  any 
strawberries  ?     Those  bad  children  ! ' 

'  It  was  naughty  to  frighten  you,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith;  '  but  their  right  to  the  berries  seems  to  me 
better  than  yours.' 

'  But  I  found  them  ! '  cried  Eunice. 

'  Plainly,  so  had  they.' 

'  And  I  wanted  'em  for  Miss  Jane.' 

'  And  they  for  themselves.' 

*  But  I  mean,  to  get  money  for  yo%^  said 
Eunice.  '  They  didn't  want  'em  to  sell.  They 
were  just  eating,  eating,  like  a  drove  of  little 
pigs.' 

'  Well  I  never  saw  a  drove  of  little  pigs  yet,  that 
were  not  hungry,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  Maybe  these 
poor  children  had  nothing  else  to  eat  for  their 
next  meal.  Remember,  God  is  their  Father  too, 
Eunice.  He  may  have  sent  them  there  for  din- 
ner.' 

Eunice  shook  her  head. 

'  He  wouldn't  send  them  and  me  too,'  she  said. 
Mrs.  Keith  smiled. 

'Maybe  he  would,'  she  said.     'To  see  how  this 


260  CROSS  CORNERS. 

happy  little  child  would  treat  her  forlorn  brothers 
and  sisters.' 

'  I  didn't  treat  'em  at  all,'  said  Eunice.  '  They 
treated  me.' 

'  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  Did  no  quick  word  come 
from  the  lips  of  my  little  daughter  ? ' 

'  I  just  told  'em  they'd  no  business  there,'  said 
Eunice.     '  Yes,  I  s'pose  I  said  it  pretty  quick.' 

'  If  you  did  not  speak  respectfully  of  course  they 
would  not.  For  no  one  has  ever  taught  them,  Eu- 
nice.' 

'  But  mother,'  said  the  little  girl,  her  eyes  filling, 
'■  you  don't  speak  respectfully  to  such  folks.' 

'  Do  you  not  ?     I  do.' 

*  0  yes — you ! '  said  Eunice,  much  aggrieved 
again,  '  I  s'pose  they'd  have  helped  fill  your  bas- 
ket and  made  you  tell  'em  a  story.  But  they're 
not  respectable,  /think.' 

'  And  yet  God  made  them — so  they  must  be  fit 
for  something;  and  he  loves  them — so  they  must 
be  worth  something;  and  Christ  died  for  them — so 
they  must  be  very,  very  precious.' 

'  Well,  I  s'pose  I  shall  never  be  good,'  Eunice 
answered  in  a  resigned  tone.  'Mother,  do  you 
think  I  had  better  go  and  hunt  up  some  cresses 
for  Miss  Jane  ?  ' 


CJiOSS  CORNERS.  261 

*  I  think  you  had  better  not  hunt  up  anything 
more  today  but  a  nap.  Go  and  sleep  off  all  your 
worries ;  and  then  after  dinner  you  may  walk  up 
to  Cross  Corners  and  tell  Miss  Jane  the  tale  of 
your  empty  basket.' 


CHAPTER   XXm. 

Eunice,  slept  off  her  worries,  for  the  time  at  least, 
eat  lier  dinner  with  an  excellent  appetite;  and 
then  set  off  for  Cross  Corners,  basket  in  hand.  An 
empty  one  this  time; — and  if  the  child  had  been 
old  enough  to  moralize,  she  might  have  had  many- 
wise  thoughts  about  the  folly  of  grumbling  at  any- 
thing today,  since  by  tomorrow  that  very  most 
disagreeable  thing  may  turn  about  and  become  a 
pleasure.  It  was  really  not  so  very  long  since  Eu- 
nice had  found  it  a  great  trial  to  take  l)erries  to 
Miss  Jane, — while  now,  she  only  wished  she  had 
them  to  take.  Something  of  this  kind  did  indeed 
cross  her  mind;  but  she  did  not  go  on  to  apply  the 
lesson. 

*Tt  isn't  that  so  much,'  she  said  to  herself,  swing- 
ing the  empty  basket  and  jerking  it  up  and  down 
as  if  it  alone  were  responsible.  '  Tt  isn't  the  hav- 
ing nothing  to  carry  there, — it's  because  I've  got  to 

take  something  hack.'' — And  she  gave  the  basket  a 
(262) 


CROSS  CORNERS.  263 

flirt  which  if  it  had  been  at  all  weak  minded 
would  certainly  have  had  an  unhappy  eflfect. 

'  And  there's  my  shoe  untied,  now  " — she  said,  as 
if  that  was  part  and  parcel  of  the  same  concern. 
*  Both  shoes ! ' 

But  after  all,  it  is  no  terrible  thing  to  have  shoe- 
strings play  such  pranks  when  you  are  out  on  a 
pretty  road,  and  you  are  not  in  a  hurry,  and  the 
weather  is  perfect.  Eunice  stepped  aside  and 
climbed  up  the  little  roadside  bank,  and  sat  down 
under  the  fence  to  tie  her  shoes.  Near  by  a  wild 
plum  tree  stretched  its  leafy  branches;  at  her 
back  was  a  great  elder  bush.  The  warm  summer 
hush  was  upon  everything:  the  afternoon  breeze 
was  not  yet  astir ;  the  afternoon  hurry  of  the  birds 
towards  bedtime  not  yet  begun.  Eunice  tied  her 
lawless  shoestrings  and  then  sat  still,  sighing  for 
very  pleasure.  The  sun  was  hot, — but  little  peo- 
ple who  pick  berries  do  not  mind  that:  the  soft 
rustle  of  leaves  was  so  sweet,  one  could  hardly 
wish  for  more  of  a  commotion.  Faint  farm  sounds 
came  from  one  place  and  another:  hens  cackled, 
cocks  crowed,  turkeys  gobbled,  horses  neighed 
and  cows  lowed.  Somewhere  a  peacock  raised  his 
voice:  somewhere  else  a  donkey  raised  Ms.  Men 
called   to   their  teams,   birds   chattered    to     their 


264  C/COSS  CORNERS. 

households; — but  it  was  all  blended  and  mingled 
till  it  was  all  one  great  sweet  summer  chorus. 
There  was  even  the  clear  tinkle  of  a  little  brook 
somewhere  near  by. 

Suddenly,  as  Eunice  sat  dreaming  in  the  sun- 
shine, a  sweet,  strong  whistle  struck  in, — a  voice 
she  knew  well ; — and  then  in  a  moment  the  whis- 
tle passed  into  song. 

"No  burning  heats  by  day, 

"Nor  blasts  of  midnight  air, 
"  Can  take  my  life  away, 

"  If  God  be  with  me  there. 
"  I'll  go  and  come 

"  Nor  fear  to  die, 

"  Till  from  on  high 
"  Thou  call  me  home." 

Sweet,  clear,  the  words  rang  out;  and  it  was 
wonderful  how  they  seemed  to  fit  in  with  every- 
thing else.  And  again,  had  Eunice  been  older, 
she  would  have  known  it  was  because  the  whole 
natural  world  was  full  of  praise.  "  All  thy  works 
praise  thee,  O  God,  in  all  places  of  thy  dominion." 

Right  across  her  way  at  this  point,  turning  in 
from  a  side  road,  came  a  slow-moving  yoke  of 
oxen,  toiling  along  in  front  of  a  great  mound  of 
Bweet-smelling  hay.  The  hay  was  piled  up  and  up, 
till  one  wondered  how  it  ever  got  there;   but  the 


CROSS  CORNERS.  265 

oxen  plodded  patiently  on  with  half-shut  eyes,  as 
if  that  was  none  of  their  business;  keeping  strict- 
ly to  their  work,  which  was  to  carry  the  load  safe 
into  the  barn.  Yet  do  their  best,  they  could  not 
get  it  quite  all  there.  First  a  little  playful  wisp  at 
the  top  of  the  load  would  slide  off,  in  a  game  of 
hide  and  seek  with  the  soft  breeze ;  then  a  stone 
in  the  road  would  jolt  off  another,  quite  down  un- 
der the  wheel ;  and  then  an  old  apple  tree  by  the 
roadside  would  thrust  its  crooked  arm  right  into 
the  hay,  and  pull  out  a  lock  to  see  if  it  was  good. 
But  still  the  oxen  toiled  on,  giving  no  heed ;  and 
walking  along  by  them  with  his  usual  cheery  step, 
was  David.  Eunice  watched  till  he  was  well  out  on 
the  main  road  with  his  team,  then  she  sprang  out 
of  the  shade  of  the  elder  bush  and  down  the  bank. 

♦  0  Davy,  how  nice  ! '  she  cried.  '  Now  you'll 
put  everything  in  order.' 

'  Sounds  easy,  doesn't  it  ?  '  said  David;  '  but  I'm 
afraid  it's  too  long  a  job  for  a  busy  boy  like  me. 
Where  are  you  off  to,  small  child,  at  this  time  of 
day?' 

'  O  I'm  going  to  tell  Miss  Jane  I  haven't  got 
any  berries.' 

'  Taking  the  empty  basket  along  to  prove  the 
fact?' 


266  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  No — '  said  Eunice  with  a  twist  of  her  shoul- 
ders. '  This  isn't  my  berry  basket.  This  basket 's 
going  for  shoes.     And  I  wish  it  wasn't.' 

'  Tlien  Mrs.  Keith's  hand  is  really  well  again,' 
said  David.     '  What  good  news  ! ' 

'  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  or  not,'  said  Eunice. 
'She  might  'most  as  well  have  her  hand  on  a 
pillow  as  to  have  it  all  cut  up  with  that  hard 
black  thread.' 

'  Very  selfish,  Eunice  Keith.' 

'  Why  no  it  isn't ! '  said  the  little  girl,  her  eyes 
filling.     '  It's  all  for  Aer.' 

'  Is  it  ?  '  said  David,  halting  his  oxen,  and  open- 
ing a  sort  of  little  nest  in  the  front  of  the  load  of 
hay.  '  Now  if  you'll  be  a  sensible  child,  I'll  give 
you  a  ride,  but  if  you're  going  to  talk  grumbles, 
you'll  just  have  to  foot  it  and  take  all  the  dust  you 
\3ome  to. 

'  0  I'll  be  good ! '  cried  Eunice  in  high  glee, 
climbing  up  into  the  sweet  hay.  '  Only  you 
mustn't  take  me  too  far,  Davy.' 

'  I'll  set  you  down  at  another  cross  road  that  is 
just  as  near.  Now  what  have  you  been  doing  all 
day  ? ' 

Eunice  told  her  tale,  nestled  there  in  the  sweet, 
warm  cushions;   life  looked  brighter  already;  and 


CROSS  CORNERS.  267 

David  had  hung  her  basket  on  one  of  the  wagon 
poles,  so  even  that  grievance  was  out  of  sight. 
And  David  listened,  with  sometimes  a  smile,  and 
sometimes  a  shake  of  the  head,  yet  answered  hard- 
ly a  word,  as  the  tale  went  on.  Eunice  at  last 
grew  a  little  suspicious  of  this  silence. 

*  Now  Davy,  why  do  you  laugh  ?  '  she  said. 
'  Laugh,  did  T  ?  '  said  David. 

'  Yes  you  did,'  said  Eunice  ;  '  and  /  think  it's 
very  serious.' 

'  So  do  I,'  said  David.  '  You  must  not  go  over 
there  again,  small  child.' 

'  That's  what  mother  said,'  remarked  Eunice, 
leaning  back  comfortably  in  her  hay  nest ;  '  but  I 
don't  see  why  I  should  stay  away  and  those  bad 
children  go.' 

'  Because  there's  no  board  up  at  the  gate :  "  C  dy 
very  good  children  admitted." ' 

' Davy,  you  shan't  say  that ! '  said  Eunice 
leaning  forward  again.  '  You  might  better 
laugh.  Where  have  you  been  all  day,  I  vron- 
der?' 

'  Making  hay.' 

*  Well  hay 's  almost  the  sweetest  thing  in  the 
world,'  said  Eunice,  turning  her  face  so  as  to  touch 
the  fragrant  mass.     '  But  it's  queer  people  have  to 


268  CROSS  CORNERS. 

makd  it.     I  should  think  grass  could  grow  all  the 
time.' 

'  Theu  we  shouldn't  know  how  sweet  hay  is.' 
'  No,  I  s'pose   we  shouldn't,'  said  Eunice,  nest- 
ling   back   once    more.     '  And  it  is  sweeter  than 
grass.       Davy,    why   do  you   say  'making  hay?' 
You  don't  make  it, — the  sun  makes  it.' 

'  I  do  my  part,'  said  David.  '  That's  the  way  in 
all  kinds  of  haymaking: 

"I  do  the  little  I  can  do, 
And  leave  the  rest  to  thee." ' 

'  All  kinds  of  haymaking  ?  there  isn't  but  one,' 
Eunice  said. 

'  O  there  you  are  quite  out,  small  child,'  said 
David.     '  I've  been  making  hay  two  ways,  all  day.' 

'  Well  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  mean  by 
haymaking,  then,'  said  Eunice. 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  hay  ? ' 

'  Hay  ? '  said  Eunice,  sitting  straight  up  in  her 
eagerness, — '  well  I  should  say  I  know  what  hay 
is  ! — sitting  here  in  it.  You  cut  the  grass  in  the 
summer,  and  you  put  it  away  for  the  winter. 
That's  hay.' 

'  Not  quite,' said  David.  '  Formors  would  have 
an  easy  time,  if  it  was  only,  cut  and  carry  in.' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  269 

'  0  you  leave  it  in  the  sun  first,  a  good  while,' 
said  Eunice.     'And  turn  it  over  and  over.' 

'  And  that's  haymaking.  Turning  over  sweet 
things  in  the  sunshine  and  storing  them  up  for  a 
time  of  scantiness.  They're  so  plenty  now.  '  Make 
hay  while  the  sun  shines,'  you  know,  Eunice  Keith.' 

'Yes,  I  know — about  this  hay,'  said  Eunice. 

'  It's  sunshine  all  through,  to-day,'  said  David  ; 
'  and  I've  made  lots  of  real  clover  hay.' 

'This?' 

'  This — and  that.  This  for  farmer  Dickson,  and 
that  for  myself.  I've  turned  ever  so  many  of  the 
promises  over  and  over  in  the  sun,  and  I  know 
they'll  be  ready  when  the  cold  comes.  And  I've 
stored  away  precepts,  so  that  I'll  know  where  to 
find  them.  It's  a  bad  thing  to  have  to  run  round 
in  the  snow  to  hunt  up  what  you  want.' 

'  Davy,'  said  Eunice,  leaning  forward  and  speak- 
ing very  earnestly,  '  I  think  you  are  the  very 
queerest  boy  that  ever  lived.' 

'  Am  I  ? '  said  David.  '  Seems  to  me  you're 
rather  hard  on  bare-footed  folks,  of  a  sudden.' 

'  I'm  not ! '  said  Eunice.  '  You  mustn't  say  so.  I 
just  wish  you'd  seen  their  feet,  and  you'd  have  been 
hard  yourself  But  I  mean,  Davy,  I  don't  know  a 
bit  what  you  mean.' 


270  C/iOSS  COA'jV£/?S. 

'  It  has  been  such  a  day ' — said  David,  glancing 
round  at  her :  '  such  a  blessed,  wonderful  day. 
Such  a  day  of  the  Lord's  sunshine.  Everything 
has  been  just  a  little  better  than  usual.  So  as  I 
tell  you,  small  child,  I've  been  storing  up  sweet 
things  for  time  to  come. — "  Fear  thou  not,  for  I  am 
with  thee."  — Some  day  when  the  wind  blows  keen 
I'll  go  after  that,  and  fnd  it.  "  He  knoweth  the 
way  that  I  take," — I'll  find  that  too.  "  The  Lord 
is  thy  keeper :  the  Lord  is  thy  shade  upon  thy  right 
hand."  ' 

'  0  I  know  that  Psalm,'  broke  in  Eunice,  '  I've 
read  it  to  mother.' 

'But  then  you  left  it  in  the  field,'  said  David, 
'  instead  of  storing  it  up.' 

Eunice  sat  silent. 

'  Davy,'  she  said  suddenly,  '  there's  a  great 
deal  of  hay  wasted.  Just  look  at  it  all  along 
the  road.' 

David  laughed  a  little,  then  all  at  once  halted 
his  oxen. 

'  Here's  your  turning,'  he  said,  jumping  Eunice 
down  from  her  perch  and  giving  her  the  basket. 
'  Go  straight  down  that  road,  and  you'll  be  at  Cross 
Corners  in  five  minutes.' 

'  But   I  don't  want  to  be  there  in  five  minutes ! ' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  271 

cried  Eunice.      '  0  Davy,  stop  !— you're  always  in 
such  a  hurry  !     Just  a  minute,  Davy  ! ' 

'  Can't  stop,' — said  David :  *  haven't  got  a  min- 
ute till  sundown,  that  belongs  to  me.  Come 
along ! — haw ! ' — 

The  meek  oxen  plodded  on  again :  Eunice  stood 
still  in  the  road  gazing  after  them,  her  small  brows 
knit  in  some  displeasure. 

'  Well,  I  think  Davy's  a  little  bit  too  good,'  she 
said.     '  That's  what  I  think.' 

With  which  expression  of  opinion,  Miss  Eunice 
Keith  shook  her  short  skirts  into  order,  brushing 
off  the  hay  seeds;  took  off  her  bonnet  and  shook 
that;  dusted  herself  down  generally;  and  marched 
off  to  Cross  Corners. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

It  was  a  fruitless  walk.  Miss  Jane  was  out,  and 
everybody  was  out  except  black  Soper;  who  heard 
the  tale  of  the  lost  berries  with  great  sympathy, 
and  promised  to  render  a  full  report. 

'  But  that  won't  do  any  good,'  Eunice  said  to  her- 
self as  she  turned  away  with  her  still  empty  basket. 
She  had  had  a  little  secret  hope  that  Miss  Jane 
might  pour  in  rolls  and  oranges  (as  she  sometimes 
did)  till  there  would  be  no  room  for  the  shoes;  but 
of  course  black  Soper — with  all  the  good  will  in 
the  world  —  could  not  do  that.  The  empty  basket 
dangled  and  danced  just  as  disagreeably  as  when 
she  set  out.  No  help  for  it, — she  must  stop  at  Mr. 
Vamp's  and  get  the  shoes. 

It  chanced  to  be  a  day  when  things  had  gone 

sideways  at  the    shoemakers;  and   Eunice  being 

the  first  safe  channel  that  came  in  sight,  Mr.  Vamp 

poured  out  his  discontent  upon  her. 

*  Wants  shoes,  does  slie  ? '  he  said.     '  Why  hasn't 
(272) 


CROSS  CORNERS.  273 

she  wanted  'em  before  ?    It's  a  matter  of  six  weeks, 
more  or  less,  since  she  sent  home  the  last  lot.' 

'  Her  hand  has  been  lame,'  said  Eunice. 

'  What's  that  to  do  ? '  said  Mr.  Vamp.  '  I  can't  go 
on  keepin'  the  place  open  for  lame-handed  folks. 
They 's  got  to  be  sound  that  works  for  me.' 

' Well  she  didn't  work,  and  she  couldnt  work,' 
said  Eunice  flushing  up.     '  But  she's  better  now.' 

'  And  now 's  just  the  prime  o'  the  hot  weather, 
when  most  folks'  d  sooner  be  without  shoes  than 
not,'  said  Mr.  Vamp.  '  So  of  course  now's  just 
the  exact  time  when  you  want  'em.' 

'  I  don't  want  them,'  said  Eunice  hotly.  '  If  you 
think  I  do,  you're  just  about  as  much  mistaken  as 
tjver  you  were  in  your  life,  Mr.  Vamp.' 

The  shoemaker  laughed. 

'  So,  so  ? '  he  said.  '  Why  who's  child's  this,  I 
wonder  ?  Such  a  crow  as  that  can't  never  have 
come  out  of  the  Keith  cottage.  Here's  your  bun- 
dle, child.  Eun  home  to  your  mother;  and  tell 
her  a  good  whipping  or  two  wouldn't  hurt  ye,  and 
might  learn  ye  manners.     Clear  out ! '  — 

'  Out,'  Eunice  went,  with  her  stateliest  step, — 

but  instead  of  going  home,  she  turned  off  from  the 

village  road  and  ran  like  the  wind  to  one  of  her 

favourite  shady  corners  at  the  edge  of  the  woods. 
18 


274  CROSS   CORNERS. 

And  there  she  threw  herself  down  on  the  warm 
moss,  and  cried  till  she  certainly  thought  she  had 
no  tears  left.  Now  it  is  true  that  that  little  fount- 
ain does  not  so  easily  run  dry;  only  Eunice  thought 
80.  There  were  really  plenty  of  tears  left, — more 
than  plenty:  but  she  did  cry  till  she  was  tired. 
Then  she  sat  up  and  dried  her  eyes  and  looked 
about  lier. 

It  was  quite  time  she  should  be  at  home,  that  was 
clear.  Long  shadows  lay  over  the  road ;  shadows 
every  minute  growing  longer,  and  running  into 
each  other  more  and  more:  the  cows  were  come 
home  to  the  milking,  the  chickens  were  picking 
lip  the  last  crumbs  of  their  supper,  the  birds  were 
busily  seeking  theirs.  Only  with  so  many  little 
open  mouths  to  fill,  the  robins  and  sparrows  must 
have  been  hard  put  to  it  to  know  wiiich  luas 
the  last.  It  would  be  much  later  than  this,  and 
quite  well  on  in  the  twilight,  before  the  old  birds 
snatched  a  morsel  or  so  and  went  to  bed.  And 
now,  sounding  gently  out  from  the  old  white  spire, 
came  the  first  warning  bell,  reminding  the  village 
that  this  was  prayer  meeting  night. 

But  at  the  tender  voice  of  the  old  bell,  Eunice 
drew  the  deepest  sigh  she  had  managed  yet.  For 
what  was,  really,  the  very  worst  thing  that  rude 


C/iOSS  CORNERS.  275 

Mr.  Vamp  had  said?  Ah,  it  is  always  so! — the 
thing  that  stung  deepest  and  would  not  go,  was 
not  the  rough  words  that  were  false,  but  the  one 
smooth-enough  word  that  was  true. 

'  Why,  whose  child  is  this  ? '  Mr.  Vamp  had 
said. 

Well,  whose  was  it,  sure  enough  ?  —  for  Eunice 
seemed  to  have  quite  forgotten.  This  angry  little 
girl,  with  red  face,  hardly  able  to  speak  for  her 
anger,  or  to  find  sharp  enough  words  when  she 
did  ?  —  whose  child  could  she  possibly  be  ?  Not 
the  child  of  Him  "  who  when  he  was  reviled,  revil- 
ed not  again;  "  — not  even  of  his  patient  follower 
down  in  the  little  cottage,  in  whose  lips  was  "  the 
law  of  kindness."  Eunice  began  to  feel  very 
much  like  a  little  outcast,  as  if  she  belonged  to 
nobody. 

'  But  I  do.1  though  ! ' — so  she  contradicted  her- 
self: '  only  I  forgot  it.' 

Yes,  she  had  clean  forgotten  whose  child  she 
was.  Forgotten  that  her  Father  in  heaven  had 
said:  "A  soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath;  "  — 
forgotten  the  commandment:  "Bless  them  which 
persecute  you:    bless,  and  curse  not." 

'  W^ell  I  didn't  curse — '  said  Eunice,  nodding  her 
head  as  if  that  was  one  point  gained, — 'but  maybe 


276  C\ROSS  COJiNEHS. 

I  should,  if  I'd  known  how,'  she  added  honestly. 
*  I'm  sure  1  didn't  bless.     And  it  ivas  persecution. 

0  dear  ! — I'm  such  a  goose  !  —  Such  a  wicked 
goose  I ' 

Two  or  three  sobs  rose  up  at  that ;  and  then  Eu- 
nice picked  up  her  basket  and  sped  away  home. 

*I've  got  the  shoes,'  she  said,  hurrying  in  and 
laying  them  on  the  table.  'And  I've  paid  for 
thera,  too, — a  great  deal  more  than  I  had  to  spare. 
And  oh,  mother,  if  you  don't  pray  very  hard  that 

1  may  stop  being  a  wicked  goose,  and  never  for- 
get whose  child  I  am,  then  I  don't  know  what  I 
shall  do.' 

The  mother  asked  no  questions,  but  drew  the 
child  into  her  arras  and  knelt  with  her,  then  and 
there; — and  it  was  not  till  after  the  prayer  that 
Eunice  told  her  story. 


CHAPTER  XXy. 

That  night  the  weather  changed;  and  a  violent 
storm  of  wind  and  rain  swept  earth  and  sky  till 
daybreak.  But  it  did  not  disturb  Eunice.  From 
the  time  her  weary  little  head  went  down  upon 
the  pillow,  sleep,  of  the  soundest  and  sweetest, 
held  her  fast.  If  the  wind  roared  and  the  cottage 
swayed,  she  seemed  to  take  it  all  as  an  additional 
lullaby. 

Not  so  Mrs.  Keith.  The  child  had  poured  off 
her  own  excitement,  and  the  mother  had  caught 
it  all; — and  without  a  thought  of  sleep,  she  lay 
thinking  of  the  new  dangers  and  difficulties  that 
were  opening  before  Eunice,  as  the  child  grew 
older;  and  of  new  precautions  and  guardings 
which  must  go  forth  to  meet  them.  Hard  plans 
to  lay,  hard  things  to  do,  for  one  tied  down  at 
home  to  the  daily  bread- winning;  the  mother's 
eyes  grew  more  and  more  sleepless  and  wide  open, 

gazing  out  upon  the  way  that  seemed  to  lie  before 

r277) 


278  CJ?OSS  CORA'-ERS. 

her  little  daughter.  And  then  at  last,  the  very 
storra  which  rocked  Eunice  to  sleep,  brought  its 
message  to  IMrs.  Keith;  and  through  all  the  tu- 
mult she  heard  just  one  thing. 

"  The  rain  descended,  and  the  floods  came,  and 
the  wind  blew,  and  beat  upon  that  house,  and  it 
fell  not;   for  it  was  founded  upon  a  rock." 

That  was  all.  The  little  feet  firm  planted  there, 
could  not  go  wrong  :  the  child — '•  Safe  in  the  arms 
of  Jesus" — would  he  safe, — even  though  the 
mother's  weak  hands  were  far  away. 

'And  "I  know  whom  T  have  believed,"'  Mrs. 
Keith  repeated  to  herself,  '  "  and  that  he  is  able  to 
keep  that  which  I  have  committed  unto  him." ' 

The  lips  did  tremble,  and  the  eyes  were  wet; 
but  in  five  minutes  more  she  was  asleep. 

It  was  a  great  frolic  for  Eunice  to  get  the  start 
of  her  mother  and  wake  up  first;  which  rarely 
happened  indeed,  unless  some  special  fatigue  or 
sleeplessness  had  filled  up  the  early  part  of  the 
night  for  Mrs.  Keith.  And  so  it  frll  out  this 
morning,  Eunice  slipped  out  of  bed  in  high  glee, 
dressed  herself  on  tiptoe;  and  then  marched  out  to 
the  next  room,  softly  shutting  the  door  between. 
And  really  there  was  plenty  to  do,  so  it  was  well 
she  got  up  betimes. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  279 

In  the  first  place,  the  rain  had  beaten  in  clear 
under  the  door,  and  must  be  swept  out.  Then, 
putting  the  door  wide  open  for  this  purpose,  Eu- 
nice found  a  little  mat  of  twigs  and  leaves  cover- 
ing all  the  doorstep ;  and  the  wet  leaves  stuck  so 
fast,  that  they  were  very  hard  to  sweep  off,  and 
some  of  them  had  clearly  come  to  stay. 

She  was  labouring  away  at  a  great  maple  leaf, 
that  lay  there  as  if  it  were  glued  to  the  stone ;  her 
cheeks  red  with  the  exercise,  her  hair  dancing  in 
the  wind,  her  broom  making  most  energetic  passes 
at  the  wilful  leaf;  when  all  at  once  a  terrible 
commotion  broke  forth  in  the  kitchen  behind  her. 

'  Dear,  dear  !' said  Eunice,  'everything  always 
comes  at  once.  I  do  think  those  swallows  might 
have  waited  to  tumble  down  chimney  till  I  got 
through  sweeping ! ' — 

She  set  her  broom  in  the  corner,  stooped  down 
and  picked  up  the  leaf  that  wouldn't  sweep  off  and 
tossed  it  out  on  the  path ;  then  ran  in  to  see  what 
was  the  matter  there :  for  such  a  screaming  and 
chirping  and  twittering — and  screaming  again — 
must  mean  a  good  deal. 

Sure  enough,  there — mixed  up  very  promiscu- 
ously with  the  ashes  and  brands  of  last  night's  fire, 
were  no  less  than  three  broods  of  young  swallows ; 


•JSO  CROSS  COkiVEKS. 

one  lately  hatched  out,  one  sporting  a  few  feath- 
ers here  and  there,  and  one  almost  full  fledged. 
These  last  indeed  soon  made  little  excursions 
out  on  the  hearth,  climbed  into  the  chip  basket, 
and  clambered  up  the  wall.  But  if  they  were  all 
far  apart  in  age  and  experience,  they  were  alike  in 
knowledge  of  what  voices  were  meant  for.  Not 
one  of  them  paused  for  a  minute, — from  the  plain- 
tive chirp  down  among  the  ashes,  to  the  shrill 
vociferation  of  the  young  Ilirundo,  who  had 
mounted  one  of  the  andirons  and  now  demanded 
his  breakfast  and  his  home.  But  w^hile  all  this 
went  steadily  on,  the  minute  the  sound  of  wings 
was  heard  up  chimney,  as  the  perturbed  heads 
of  families  came  with  supplies  which  there  was 
nobody  to  take; — then  indeed  the  young  ones  all 
spoke  at  once;  and  there  broke  forth  a  clamour 
which  was  as  ear-piercing  as  it  was  pitiful. 

'  0  dear,  dear  I '  Eunice  cried,  putting  her  hands 
to  her  head, — '  if  you  only  would  just  hush  for  two 
minutes  and  let  me  hear  myself  think  !  Do  stop  ! 
— I'm  not  going  to  broil  you  all  for  breakfast.  And 
I  really  do  not  see,'  Eunice  went  on,  folding  her 
arms  and  standing  calmly  in  front  of  the  racket; 
•  I  really  do  )iot  see,  how  I  am  to  get  any  breakfast 
at  all.     Of  course  you've  waked  mother  up, — and 


CJIOSS  CORNERS.  281 

now  I  suppose  you'll  just  go  on  screaming  your 
lives  out,  there  in  the  ashes.' 

And  just  then  there  came  a  whirr  of  grown  up 
wings  in  the  chimney;  and  again  all  the  young 
swallows  below  screamed  like  two  to  one.  Eunice 
stopped  her  ears. 

'  You  can't  wish  you  were  up  there,  more  than  I 
wish  you  were,'  she  said,  turning  round  as  the 
door  opened.  '  0  mother,  whatever  are  we  to  do  ? 
Take  care  !  —  there's  one  scampering  round  just 
under  your  feet.' 

'Scampering  round?  are  they  so  big  as  that?' 
said  Mrs.  Keith. 

'  0  they're  all  sizes,'  said  Eunice  despairingly : 
little,  and  big,  and  'most  big,  and  half  little.  And 
if  there  are  any  more  sorts  I  think  we've  got  'em. 
And  where  I'm  to  get  breakfast,  I'm  sm-e  I  don't 
know.  I  don't  care  about  eating  young  swallows, 
myself 

'  Nor  I,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  laughing  at  Eunice's 
long  face.  'But  breakfast  we  must  have,  and 
soon.  I'll  tell  you,  love, — we'll  make  our  fire  out- 
side.' 

'  Outside  ?  '  cried  Eunice, — *  out  of  doors  ?  0  1 
wish  the  swallows  would  tumble  down  every  day  ! ' 

So  one  took  the  chip  basket  and  the  other  the 


282  CROSS  CORNERS. 

kettle,  and  went  back  of  the  house  to  a  big  flat 
stone,  with  no  trees  hanging  over  it  that  could  be 
hurt ;  and  there  they  lit  the  fire.  The  wind  had 
kept  on  blowing  for  some  time  after  the  rain 
ceased,  so  that  the  rock  was  fairly  dry;  and  the 
rain  drops  had  sunk  down  among  the  pebbles  of 
the  little  walk,  leaving  that  dry  too ; — and  on  the 
walk  they  set  their  chairs.  And  Mrs.  Keith's 
little  work  stand  marched  out  to  serve  as  a  break- 
fast table. 

It  was  a  very  simple  breakfast.  Tea  and  milk ; 
some  not  over-fresh  bread ;  a  dish  of  water  cresses ; 
and  two  of  Miss  Jane's  last  gift  of  bananas.  The 
last  two  —  as  Eunice  remarked  to  herself.  But 
no  empty  cupboard  nor  scant  supplies  could  shad- 
ow the  glee  of  that  breakfast  out  of  doors.  To 
begin  with  —  like  the  relief  from  a  headache  — 
it  was  positive  pleasure  to  be  out  of  hearing  of 
tliose  screaming  swallows; — and  then  every  thing 
else  was  harmony  itself  It  seemed  to  Eunice  that 
she  wanted  to  look  everywhere  at  once;  and 
everywhere  there  was  something  sweet  to  see. 

'  Yes,  I  wish  they  would  tumble  down  every  day,' 
she  repeated,  as  she  finished  iier  banana.  *  But 
what  we're  going  to  do  with  their,  now  they  are 
down,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  283 

It  was  the  finishing  touch  to  this  wonderful 
morning,  that  at  this  very  moment  David  should 
be  at  hand,  and  shew  himself.  In  fact  he  had 
noticed  the  smoke  coming  from  such  an  unusual 
place,  that  he  had  got  farmer  Dickson's  leave  to 
run  across  lots  and  see  what  was  the  matter.  David 
made  short  work  with  the  swallows.  He  caught 
the  oldest,  and  put  them  up  the  chimney  as  far  as 
his  arm  could  reach,  when  they  soon  took  hold  and 
mounted  up  to  their  father  and  mother;  and  the  poor 
little  unfledged  things  in  the  fireplace — half  dead 
already  with  ashes  and  screaming,  he  drowned  at 
once,  as  the  kindest  thing  that  could  be  done.  The 
fallen  nests  he  gave  to  Eunice,  and  was  off  and 
away  over  the  fields  again,  before  the  young  swal- 
lows in  the  chimney  had  half  told  their  tale.  The 
cottage  was  once  more  quiet. 

Eunice  stood  thinking. 

'  I  thought  yesterday  that  David  was  a  little  bit 
too  good,'  she  said  reflectively;  'but  I  don't  know 
that  he  is.  It's  convenient.  Mother,  what  queer 
nests  swallows  do  build.' 

She  brought  to  Mrs.  Keith  the  one  unbroken 
nest  that  had  slipped  down  the  chimney.  It  was 
a  queer  enough  house  for  anything.  Rather  large, 
knotty,  twigs  laid  cross  wise  of  each  other,  were 


284  CROSS  CORNERS. 

built  up  into  a  very  shallow  little  saucer  with  one 
straight  side.  The  t^vigs  were  roughly  bound  to- 
gether with  what  looked  like  a  thick  glue;  and  on 
the  straight  side  the  glue  was  even  and  smooth, 
showing  that  here  the  nest  had  been  fastened  up 
against  the  chimney. 

'  Whatever  made  it  fall  ?  '  said  Eunice,  looking 
curiously  at  the  little  structure. 

'  It  was  a  fair  weather  house,'  said  Mrs.  Keith. 
'  The  glue  held  fast  and  strong,  until  the  storm 
came  and  it  got  wet.  But  when  "  the  rain  de- 
scended, and  the  floods  came,  and  the  winds  blew 
and  beat  upon  that  house,  it  fell."  ' 

'  You  always  think  of  something,'  said  Eunice. 
'  Mother,  don't  you  ever  forget  ? ' 

'  Forget  the  "  endless  life  ?  " '  said  Mrs.  Keith, — 
'  no,  I  think  I  never  do.  You  see,  Eunice,  I  do  not 
want  ray  treasure  lodged  in  a  fair  weather  house.' 

'  Well  I  shouldn't  think  you  would,'  said  Eunice, 
looking  at  the  nest.  '  Poor  little  swallows !  I 
suppose  they  thought  they  were  very  safe  in  the 
chimney.  Now  I  should  think  the  orioles  would 
be  just  frightened  to  death,  all  the  time.' 

'What  makes  people  frightened?' 

'  O — bad  things,'  said  Eunice, — 'frightful  things, 
that  may  hurt  them.' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  285 

'  The  orioles  took  care  of  that,  when  they  built 
their  house.  They  swung  it  out  on  the  tip  end  of 
a  bough  where  no  snake  could  come,  and  they 
bound  it  so  fast  that  no  storm  could  blow  it  away. 
The  summer  tempests  toss  it  up  and  down;  the 
winter  pelts  it  veitn  snow  and  hail ;  and  yet  year 
after  year  the  fastenings  hold,  and  year  after  year 
the  birds  live  their  pretty  family  life  in  the  old 
house  which  never  wears  out.  "The  winds  blew 
and  beat  upon  that  house,  and  it  fell  not." ' 

Mother  and  child  stood  silently  a  bit,  looking 
up  at  the  little  nest  that  swung  off  so  fearlessly  in 
mid  air, 

'  Well  I  should  think  they'd  be  afraid,  after  all,' 
Eunice  repeated. 

And  even  as  she  spoke,  the  head  of  the  house  in 
his  glowing  black  and  orange  flew  up  to  the  top 
of  the  old  elm  tree,  and  whistled  such  a  roundelay 
as  certainly  never  came  from  a  frightened  heart. 

'"So  may  I  sing — in  Jesus  safe,"'  Mrs.  Keith 
repeated; — and  she  turned  and  went  into  the 
house  and  sat  down  to  her  shoe-binding;  while 
Eunice  took  dustpan  and  broom  and  began  to 
clear  away  the  muss. 


CHAPTEE  XXVT. 

No  berries  could  be  picked  that  day,  they  were 
too  drenched  with  wet.  And  of  course  when  Eu- 
nice went  empty-handed  to  Cross  Corners,  there 
was  a  great  deal  to  talk  abo\it.  First  of  all,  came 
the  tale  of  the  swallows  and  the  orioles  and  the 
out  of  door  breakfast.  But  Miss  Jane  had  some 
private  questions  of  her  own  on  hand  this  morn- 
ing ;  and  so  w^hile  she  seemed  to  listen  to  all  Eu- 
nice had  to  say,  she  really  was  thinking  her  own 
thoughts  the  while,  all  the  same. 

The  fact  was,  that  black  Soper  in  giving  his 
message,  had  touched  it  up  a  little  in  the  wrong 
place; — as  will  happen  sometimes,  when  we  try  to 
do  a  friend  service  without  knowing  how.  Soper 
laid  great  stress  on  the  basket,  wliich  had  gone 
back  empty  as  it  came.  He  had  thought  and 
thought  no  harm  of  it)  that  Eunice  expected  Miss 
Jane  to  fill  up  the  emptiness  with  nice  things, — as 

Mies  Jane    certainly  would,   if  she  had   been   at 
f286) 


CROSS   CORNERS.  287 

home.  Soper  knew  nothing  about  the  shoes  that 
Eunice  was  to  carry  back,  and  of  course  said  noth- 
ing;— and  so  to  Miss  Jane,  looking  coolly  on  from 
a  distance,  it  seemed  as  if  the  basket  had  come  to 
be  filled, — and  that  did  not  please  her. 

However,  she  waited  till  Eunice  had  finished  her 
account  of  the  morning's  doings;  studying  the  lit- 
tle speaker  as  she  talked,  and  half  losing  sight  of 
her  suspicions  in  the  pretty  tissue  of  earthly  and 
heavenly  things  held  up  for  her  to  see.  But  when 
at  last  Eunice  was  silent,  looking  soberly  down, 
Miss  Jane  spoke. 

'  And  so  there  are  no  berries  for  me  today,  Mid- 
get?' 

'  No  ma'am.  I'm  so  sorry.  Miss  Jane !  But 
mother  said  it  was  too  wet  for  me  to  pick,  and 
that  the  berries  would  be  too  wet  to  be  good.' 

'  Of  course  she  must  be  right,'  said  Miss  Jane. 
'  But  why  didn't  you  bring  your  basket  ?  ' 

'My  basket:'  said  Eunice,  looking  up  in  sur- 
prise.    '  Why  I  had  nothing  to  put  in  it,  ma'am.' 

'  But  you  brought  it  yesterday.  What  did  you 
have  yesterday  ?' 

'Yesterday?'  Eunice  repeated; — 'why  noth- 
ing, Miss  Jane.  Those  children  got  'em  all.  O 
that  wasn't  my  fruit  basket ! ' — 


288  CROSS  -  CVRNERS. 

'Never  mind  what  it  was,'  said  Miss  Jane. 
'  What  I  ask  is,  why  didn't  you  bring  it  today  ?  ' 

Eunice  coloured. 

'  Mother  wanted  something-  yesterday,'  she  said. 

'And  she  does  not  today  ?'  said  Miss  Jane  with 
a  keen  look. 

'  No  ma'am.     Not  that.' 

'  Well  what  did  she  want  yesterday  ?  ' 

Eunice  hesitated,  looking  down. 

'  You  know,  Midget,'  said  Miss  Jane,  '  I  told 
you  to  come  to  me  whenever  your  motner  wanted 
anything.  So  when  you  came  yesterday,  and  I 
was  out,  why  didn't  you  bring  the  basket  again 
today  ? ' 

'  The  basket  ?  To  you?'  said  the  little  girl  with 
a  wondering  IocjIc.  '  0  it  wasn't  for  you  at  all. 
Miss  Jane.  It  wasn't  anything  ijou  could  do.  O 
did  you  think  I  brought  the  basket  for  that  ? ' 
Eunice  flushed  high  now,  and  her  head  came  up 
very  straight  indeed.  '  Well  1  didn't; — so  you 
needn't  think  so  any  more,  Miss  Jane.' 

'  For  Avhat  ? '  said  Miss  Jane,  watching  her. 
'  Your  mother  wanted  something,  and  you  brought 
a  basket,  and  I  was  out.     Now  today  I  am  in.' 

'  You  might  just  as  well  be  out  today,' — said 
Eunice,  speaking  fast  and  her  voice  getting  rather 


CROSS  CORNERS.  289 

choked  as  she  went  on.     '  It  wasn't  anything  you 
could  do.' 

*  Now  Midget,'  said  Miss  Jane  gravely,  '  you  are 
quite  too  little  a  person  to  make  such  large  a  state- 
ment as  that.  I  make  no  doubt  I  could  have  done 
it     And  I  can  still.' 

'  It's  done ' — said  Eunice. 

♦  What  is  done  ?  ' 

'Why  Miss  Jane,'  said  Eunice,  so  pushed  and 
astonished  with  all  this  questioning  that  she  threw 
down  her  defences,  '  I  think  you  are  very  funny ! 
Mother  told  me  to  bring  her  some  shoes  to  bind,  as 
I  went  home,  and  I  did, — that's  all.  Only,'  Eunice 
went  on,  and  now  her  eyes  went  down  and  her 
voice  grew  very  husky  indeed :  '  only  — I  did  think 
— that  if  you  made  the  basket  full  of  other  things, 
— as  you  know  you  do  sometimes.  Miss  Jane; — 
then  there  wouldn't  be  room  enough  for  the  shoes. 
And  I  hate  them, — and  so  I'd  have  been  glad. 
But  that  wasn't  mother.  Nor  the  basket.  It  was 
just  me.  And  I  didn't  bring  the  basket  for  that,— 
only  I  had  it  when  I  came  to  tell  you  about  the 
berries.' 

Miss  Jane  was  like  herself  in  a  minute, 
*Poor  little  Midget ! '  she  said,  stooping  down  to 
kiss  the  child,—'  I  think  I  am  rather  funny.     What 

19 


290  CROSS  CORNERS. 

is  the  matter  with  the  shoes,  that  you  don't  like 
them  ? ' 

'  It's  such  ugly  work  for  mother,'  said  Eunice 
with  a  smothered  sob,  '  and  it's  hard  too.  And  I 
hate  to  go  to  Mr.  Vamp's.  And  he  don't  pay  much, 
anyhow.' 

'  Then  why  does  your  mother  do  it  ? ' 

'  0  she  can't  get  anything  else  to  do,'  said  Eunice 
sighing.  '  1  wanted  her  to  wait — but  then  you 
see  Mr.  Grab  is  sure  to  come  on  the  very  day.  I 
don't  suppose,'  said  Eunice,  with  a  face  of  deep 
consideration,  '  that  ten  hurricanes  and  six  thunder 
storms  would  keep  him  away.'    Miss  Jane  laughed. 

'  Midget,'  she  said,  '  you  are  just  a  little  goose. 
Will  you  ever  learn  that  I  know  a  great  deal  more 
than  you  do,  about  everything?  I  told  you  to 
come  to  me,  and  you  didn't  come, — and  so  youVe 
had  all  this  trouble.     Now  see  here.' 

Miss  Jane  jumped  up  and  went  to  one  of  her 
many  drawers  and  took  out  a  strip  of  scarlet  satin, 
on  which  were  stamped  vines  and  leaves  and  flow- 
ers in  very  pretty  confusion,  and  with  it  a  bunch 
of  soft  embroidery  silks, — black,  white,  green, 
yellow,  purple  and  blue. 

'This  won't  hurt  her  fingers,'  she  said.  'Can 
your  mother  do  such  work,  Midget?' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  291 

'  O  she  can  do  all  sorts  of  work ! '  cried  Eunicf', 
her  eyes  sparkling  at  sight  of  the  pretty  colours 
and  silky  threads.  '  0  Miss  Jane,  that's  perfectly 
lovely  ! ' 

'  Well  take  it  along,  then,'  said  Miss  Jane ;  '  and 
tell  her  there's  plenty  more  where  that  came  from. 
And  tell  her  to  let  the  shoes  alone.' 

'  I'll  tell  her  the  first  minute  I  get  home,'  said 
Eunice  joyously,  watching  the  white  fingers  that 
rolled  up  the  coloured  silks ;  '  but  I  know  she  won't 
let  those  she's  got  alone,  till  they're  done.' 

This  was  the  beginning  of  very  velvety  days  for 
Eunice.  One  pretty  piece  of  work  followed  anoth- 
er to  the  little  cottage;  to  be  exquisitely  wrought 
out  and  speedily  sent  home.  For  Mrs,  Keith  had 
wonderful  skill  in  all  sorts  of  needle  work,  and 
Miss  Jane  kept  her  hands  full ;  —  it  paid  much 
better  than  the  shoe  binding,  and  was  far  pleasant- 
er  to  do.  And  it  became  one  of  Eunice's  great 
delights  to  watch  her  mother's  deft  fingers;  as  with 
shining  silks  or  soft  white  thread — or  perhaps  with 
many-coloured  wools — they  wrought  out  the  pat- 
tern on  silk  or  muslin  or  canvass,  as  Miss  Jane's 
fancy  or  needs  demanded.  Eunice  had  a  new,  very 
dainty,  little  basket  now,  in  which  to  carry  the 
pretty    things   to   and   from   Cross   Corners;    and 


292  CROSS  CORNERS. 

sometimes  she  was  allowed  to  wind  a  skein,  and 
sometimes  to  hold ;  and  once  even  to  hem  down 
the  edge  of  a  piece  of  canvass.  Then  of  course  she 
must  be  housekeeper; — and  as  the  little  girl  sagely 
remarked,  '  it  was  worth  while  to  keep  house,  when 
jou  had  something  to  keep  house  with.'  And  if 
some  rougher  little  jobs  than  usual  now  came  into 
her  hands,  yet  Eunice  did  not  mind;  for  of  course 
her  mother's  fingers  must  be  kept  smooth  to  man- 
age the  embroidery  silk.  Eunice  was  very  happy 
in  these  days;  and  her  cheeks  plumped  out  in  a 
■^ay  that  did  her  mother's  heart  good  to  see. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

It  was  not  very  long  after  the  downfall  of  the 
swallows,  that  Eunice  came  in  one  afternoon  in  a 
great  state  of  agitation. 

'Mother,'  she  said,  'my  little  pussy  is  venry 
sick.  She's  been  running  round,  and  round,  and 
round, — and  now  she  just  lies  still  and  don't  move 
at  all' 

*  Poor  little  pussy !  '  said  Mrs.  Keith :  '  she  must 
have  had  a  fit.  But  kittens  often  do,  Eunice ;  and 
generally  they  come  out  of  them  all  right.' 

'  Well  I  think  she's  coming  out  all  wrong,'  said 
Eunice  with  a  heavy  sigh.  'Isn't  there  anything 
we  can  do,  mother  ?     There— just  hear  her! ' 

Mrs.  Keith  laid  aside  her  work,  and  went  out  to 
see  the  kitten,  which  was  sitting  up  again  now, 
and  mewing  most  pitifully.  But  as  soon  as  Eu- 
nice came  near,  the  cat  started  away  and  crept 
under  the  house,  where  they  could  hear  her  mew- 
ing louder  than  ever. 

(293) 


294  CROSS   CORNERS. 

'O  dear,  dear!'  said  Eunice:  'whatever  shall 
we  do  now!     She'll  just  sraothor  in  there.' 

'  0  no  she  will  not,'  said  Mrs.  Keith, — '  she's  been 
there  often  before,  after  mice.  And  it's  dark  and 
cool  and  quiet;  just  what  a  cat  likes  when  she  has 
had  a  fit' 

'  But  I  can't  see  her,  and  I  can't  help  her  ! '  said 
Eunice. 

'You  couldn't  help  her,  love,'  said  the  mother 
with  a  sigh.  '  There  is  not  often  much  to  be  done 
for  a  sick  animal,  except  to  let  it  alone  and  see 
that  nothing  troubles  it.  And  nothing  will  trouble 
little  pussy  there.  Come,  love, — I  must  go  back 
to  my  work.' 

'  Well  I  don't  see  why  she  didn't  come  in  here,' 
said  Eunice  with  a  sob.  '  It  would  have  been  a 
Qieat  comfort  to  watch  her  and  see  how  she  is,' 

Mrs.  Keith  thought  she  knew  better,  but  shu 
did  not  say  so. 

'  Pussy  likes  it  this  way  best,  Eunice.  Animals 
like  to  hide  away  when  they  are  sick.' 

'I  wonder  why/  said  Eunice,  standing  at  her 
mother's  knee  and  watching  her  mother's  swift 
fingers.  '  And  you  go  on  making  those  red  pop- 
pies, just  as  if  there  wasn't  anything  the  matter! ' 

'  Child,  I  must'  said  tlic  mother  gently. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  295 

*  O  yes, — I  suppose  you  must,'  said  Eunice  with 
another  long-drawn  sigh.  '  Mother — what  shall  1 
do  if  my  little  pussy  doesn't  get  well  ?  ' 

But  now  Mrs.  Keith  laid  her  work  quite  aside, 
and  drew  her  sorrowing  little  daughter  upon  her 
lap  and  into  her  arms.  She  didn't  say  a  word; 
and  there  was  such  comfort  in  the  clasp  of  those 
two  arms,  that  Eunice  was  silent  too  at  first;  un- 
til a  great  hot  tear  dropped  down  upon  her  fore- 
head, and  was  followed  by  another  to  see  after  the 
first.     Then  the  little  girl  started  up. 

'  O  mother,  do  you  really  care  about  pussy  ? ' 
she  cried.  'O  I  shouldn't  have  said  that  about 
the  poppies ! — and  1  didn't  mean  it,  either,  much.' 
And  Eunice  kissed  and  caressed  and  stroked  the 
face  that  bent  over  her,  as  if  she  could  not  do 
enough  to  make  amends. 

Mrs.  Keith  answered  the  caresses,  but  not  the 
speech,  for  a  while :  those  five  words  had  some- 
how wrung  her  heart.  "  What  shall  I  do,  if — " 
her  darling  had  said.  Many  a  time  had  Mrs. 
Keith  faced  that  question  for  herself,  and  now  this 
little  one  in  her  arms  must  learn  it  too. 

'  You  see  it  makes  it  all  different  if  you  care,' 
Eunice  went  on,  trying  to  break  up  the  silence. 
And  then  Mrs.  Keith  found  her  voice. 


296  CJiOSS  CORNEES. 

'  Yes,  love,  it  makes  it  all  different.  And  that 
is  just  what  I  want  my  child  to  learn,  and  remem- 
ber, and  never  forget' 

'  0  1  won't  forget — now  I  know  it,'  said  Eunice. 
'  But  I  didn't  ever  think  you  cared  much  about 
pussy.' 

'Not  quite  so  much  as  you  do,  perhaps;  but  1 
care  about  you; — and  so  I  love  everything  that 
you  love.' 

'  She's  such  a  nice  little  pussy,'  said  Eunice, 
her  lip  beginning  to  tremble  again.  '  0  mother, 
what  shall  I  do  if  she  dies  ! — Don't  you  think 
I'd  better  go  right  out  again  and  see  where  she 
is?' 

'  No,  1  think  you  had  better  sit  still  and  talk  to 
me.  There — put  your  head  down  on  my  shoulder, 
and  I'll  tell  you  about  a  little  dog  I  had  when  I 
was  just  about  as  old  as  you.' 

'  A  little  dog  ? — I  never  knew  you  had  a  little 
dog,'  said  Eunice,  making  herself  very  comforta- 
ble to  hear  the  story. 

'  I  had  a  little  dog,  that  1  loved  certainly  as 
well  as  yon  love  the  kitten.  He  was  given  to  me 
first  when  he  was  a  puppy  and  I  a  small  child ; 
and  so  we  grew  up  togetlier.  The  puppy  went 
everywhere   where   1  went;   slept  in  my  lap,  or 


CROSS  CORNERS,  297 

made  himself  into  a  pillow  for  my  head,  if  I  took 
the  fancy.' 

*  I  wish  I'd  seen  you ! '  said  Eunice,  her  eyes 
shining,  '  But  I  don't  see  how  you  grew  up  to- 
gether ;  —  you  haven't  got  him  now  —  and  you 
haven't  had,  since  I've  known  you.' 

'  You  see  I  grew  up  a  little  while  before  you 
knew  me,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  smiling  down  at  her; 
'and  I  had  my  little  dog  then.  And  he  was  a 
dear  little  dog, — as  full  of  love  and  sense  as  he  was 
of  fun ;  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal.  I  can't 
begin  to  tell  all  the  queer  things  he  would  do.' 

'  You  might  hegin — '  Eunice  suggested. 

'Well,  for  one  thing — he  was  very  fond  of  cov- 
ering himself  up  for  a  nap,  and  he  would  do  it  so 
completely,  that  you  could  never  guess  there  was 
any  little  dog  about.  I  remember  once  a  deep 
basket  full  of  old  cotton  cloth  had  been  set  in  the 
dining  room ;  and  there  Sulky  hid  away.  I  called 
and  called,  and  at  last  there  was  a  little  stir  under 
the  cotton,  and  out  jumped  Sulky.  He  came  and 
stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  at  me,  in  such  a 
funny,  waiting  attitude ; — -just  as  if  he  had  said — 
'  There — you  see  I'm  here,  all  right.  Just  look  at 
me  and  make  sure;  and  please  be  quick,  for  I  want 
to  finish  my  nap.' ' 


298  CROSS  CORNERS. 

*  0  how  lovely ! '  cried  Eunice,  sitting  straight 
up.     '  And  what  did  you  do  ? ' 

'  I  spoke  to  him,  a  word  or  two,  just  to  let  him 
know  I  saw  and  understood ;  and  then  he  trotted 
off  at  once  to  the  basket,  jumped  in,  and  in  anoth- 
er minute  you  couldn't  see  even  the  tip  of  his  tail.' 

*Well,  I  should  think  you  would  have  just  loved 
him  to  deathy  said  Eunice,  putting  her  head  down 
again. 

'  I  loved  him  very  much.  And  so  when  anybody 
spoke  of  my  losing  him,  I  used  to  fire  up  and  get 
excited  just  as  you  do,  Eunice.' 

'Did  you?'  said  Eunice.  'Then  1  must  be  a 
little  bit  like  you.  Well  that's  nice.  But  what 
did  they  talk  of  your  losing  him  for  ?  ' 

'  I  had  an  uncle  who  was  very  fond  of  teasing 
everybody,  and  me  in  particular.  So  he  would 
look  at  my  Httle  dog's  teeth,  and  pretend  that  he 
was  a  great  deal  older  than  I  thought, — and  then 
he  would  say  that  dogs  never  live  long,  anyway.' 

'  But  they  do,  don't  they  ? '  said  Eunice.  '  Why 
Davy  says  Farmer  Dickson's  dog  is  sixteen  years 
old.' 

'  Yes,  and  my  grandfather's  dog  was  fifteen,'  said 
Mrs.  Keith;  'and  so  I  told  ITncle  Simon.  But  he 
only  laughed  at  me,  and  said  that  fifteen   was  a 


CROSS  CORNERS.  299 

great  age  till  you  were  seventeen  yourself,  and 
then  it  didn't  seem  much.  And  my  dog  would  die 
young.  So  he  got  me  all  worked  up,  Eunice, — and  I 
rushed  away  into  the  house,  where  mother  sat  rock- 
ing the  baby.'  Mrs.  Keith  paused,  as  the  sweet 
old  visions  came  up  before  her  eyes. 

'  That  was  my  grandmother,'  said  Eunice,  on 
whom  the  visions  cast  no  shadow. 

'Yes.  I  rushed  in  and  told  her  all  that  Uncle 
Simon  had  said.  And  then  I  cried  out — just  as 
you  did  Eunice — '  0  mother,  what  should  I  do  if 
Sulky  died !  — '  Again  the  speaker  was  silent  a 
moment. 

'  I  shall  never  forget,'  she  went  on,  with  a  slight 
tremour  in  her  voice,  '  how  mother  looked  at  me. 
She  had  wonderful  eyes,  Eunice,  and  they  had  been 
fixed  on  the  sleeping  baby  till  I  came  in ;  but  now 
they  looked  round  at  me,  and  they  were  brimming 
fall  of  tears.  '  Sweet,' she  answered  slowly,  'just 
where  we  say,  What  if? — just  there  the  will  of 
God  comes  in.  It  is  always,  The  Lord  gave,  and  the 
Lord  hath  taken.' —  '  But  oh,'  I  cried  out  in  a  sort 
of  despair,  '  do  you  think  he  would  ever  take  away 
my  little  dog  ? '  — '  Sometime — '  she  answered  gen- 
tly. '  And  other  things,  Sweet,  that  you  love  better 
yet.     "And  who  shall  say  unto  him,  What  doest 


300  CROSS  CORNERS. 

thou  ?  "—  "  He  giveth  not  account  of  any  of  his 
matters." ' ' 

'  But  that  don't  make  it  easy,'  said  Eunice  with 
a  deep  sigh.     '  Thafs  just  what  you  can't  help.' 

'  No,  you  must  love  him  and  trust  him  till  you 
can  answer:  "It  is  the  Lord;  let  him  do  what 
seemeth  him  good."  * 

'  Did  my  grandmother  always  call  you  '  Sweet,' ' 
Eunice  inquired. 

'  Generally.' 

'  Weil  I  don't  wonder,'  said  the  child  with  an 
energetic  hug,  '  because  you're  so  sweet  now.  But 
why  did  you  call  the  dog  Sulky  ?  ' 

'By  way  of  contrast,'  said  Mrs.  Keith  smiling; 
'  for  there  was  no  more  sulkiness  about  that  little 
creature  than  there  is  about  clear  sunshine.' 

'  0  you  love  him  a  good  deal  yet,'  said  Eunice 
contentedly.  'That's  nice,  too.  But  then  you  did 
lose  him  ? '  she  added  with  a  sudden  recollection. 
'  Because  we  haven't  got  him  now.' 

'Yes,  I  lost  him, — he  was  killed.  One  of  our 
neighbours  driving  into  town  in  a  great  hurry  one 
morning,  ran  over  him.' 

Eunice  sat  up  again,  her  eyes  growing  big. 

'  Oh !  Oh  !  '  she  cried.  '  What  a  wicked,  careless 
man  !    Ah,  poor  dear  little  Sulky!    O  mother,  didn't 


CROSS  CORNERS.  301 

you  cry  very  much  ?  * — and  Eunice  began  to  cry 
herself. 

'  I  didn't  cry  at  first,'  said  Mrs.  Keith  :  '  it  is  not 
always  the  worst  pain  that  cries.  But  love,  1  don't 
want  to  talk  of  the  sorrow,  but  of  the  comfort.' 

'  Well  wait,'  said  Eunice  jumping  down, — 'just 
wait  a  minute, — I  must  go  and  look  at  my  pussy.' 

She  was  gone  a  few  moments,  and  came  back, 
her  breast  heaving. 

'  I  don't  believe  she's  alive ! '  she  said.  '  I  guess 
she's  dead  !     0  mother,  won't  you  come  and  see  ? ' 

With  a  sigh  Mrs.  Keith  rose  up,  and  followed 
the  sorrowing  child,  and  stooped  down  and  looked 
under  the  porch  at  the  kitten.  The  little  thing 
had  come  nearer  the  front  now,  within  reach,  but 
she  lay  stretched  out,  quite  still  and  quiet.  Yes, 
Mrs.  Keith  felt  sure  she  was  dead.  It  was  peace 
and  happiness,  compared  with  the  wild  agony  of 
the  fit  she  had  been  in;  but  the  mother  did  not 
say  that.  She  sat  down  on  the  doorstep  and  took 
Eunice  in  her  arms  again,  and  let  the  child  sob 
and  cry  and  look  at  her  kitten  by  turns,  till  the 
first  rush  of  the  flood  was  over.  Then  she  began 
to  talk  slowly  and  softly,  her  hand  giving  gentle 
touches  to  the  young  head  bearing  its  weight  of 
sorrow. 


302  CAOSS  CC/wVAA'^. 

'When  my  little  Sulky  Avas  killed,  Eunice,  1 
wouldn't  bear  anything  anybody  said,  at  first. 
They  told  me— all  sorts  of  things,'  said  Mrs.  Keith ; 
— '  that  it  couldn't  be  helped, — that  I  would  forget 
it, — that  my  dog  was  better  off.  All  those  foolish 
things  people  said,  meaning  to  comfort  me,  and 
really  making  the  pain  worse  with  every  word. 
And  I  sliook  them  ofi",  and  went  about  like  a  wild 
creature,  till  mother  got  home, — she  had  been  away 
with  a  sick  neighbour.  I  couldn't  eat,  I  wouldn't 
talk,  I  couldn't  cry ;  and  people's  words  just  ])erse- 
cuted  me.  But  when  mother  came — '  and  now 
Mrs.  Keith's  voice  grew  unsteady,  and  she  paused. 
'  1  can  see  it  all  now  as  the  wagon  drove  up ;  and 
how  her  face  changed  as  she  got  out,  and  they 
told  her.  And  she  just  ran  to  meet  me,  Eunice, 
pulling  oflf  her  gloves  and  bonnet  and  tossing  them 
aside  as  she  came ;  and  stooped  down  by  me,  and 
wrapped  her  arms  round  me,  with  the  tears  drop- 
ping all  down  her  own  dear  face.  '  0  Sweet ! '  she 
cried,  '  the  Lord  cares  ! '  And  then,  Eunice,  my 
tears  came,  like  a  summer  torrent.  My  heart 
ached,  I  thought,  as  if  it  would  break  in  two;  but 
somehow  the  bittcrnes.s  went  out  of  it  at  those 
words :  "  The  Lord  cares.' — I  knew  in  a  minute 
that  it  was  true,  and  I  knew  also  that  I  had  been 


CROSS  CORNERS.  303 

doubting  it.  I  had  thought  that  the  dear  Lord 
could  make  such  an  exquisite  little  living  creature, 
and  then  forgot  it, — not  notice  whether  it  was 
happy,  not  care  whether  it  lived  or  died.  And  of 
course  from  that  I  had  gone  on  to  doubt  whether 
he  cared  about  me, — quite  forgetting  whose  child 
I  was.  But  the  moment  mother  spoke  (whatever 
she  said  of  the  Lord  you  always  felt  as  if  he  him- 
self had  told  her  that  very  minute)  that  darkest 
of  clouds  cleared  quite  away.  I  knew  that  God 
loved  my  little  pet,  and  loved  me;  and  was  griev- 
ed for  the  little  dog's  pain  and  for  my  sorrow; — and 
I  cannot  tell  you.  Eunice,  what  comfort  it  was.  I 
cried  my  eyes  half  out,  there  in  mother's  arms; 
but  the  bitterness  was  all  gone.  0  darling,  never 
forget — whatever  happens  to  you — that  the  Lord 
cares ! ' 

Eunice  was  sobbing  quietly  now,  but  she  did 
not  answer ;  and  by  and  by  cried  herself  quite  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

It  was  one  of  those  long  looked  for  opportunities 
which  sometimes  come,  when  David's  employer 
just  then  being  called  away  on  business,  David 
himself  had  a  half  holiday;  and  he  and  Eunice 
went  off  after  berries  from  a  distant  field.  The 
field  was  farmer  Dickson's,  well  filled  with  wheat 
almost  to  the  fence  rails;  but  in  the  corners,  where 
the  plough  could  not  go,  held  in  close  possession 
still  by  the  original  wild  owners.  Elder  bushes 
and  bind  weed,  elecampane,  clematis,  and  a  host 
of  gay  flowers,  grew  tall  and  strong  among  the 
blackberry  bushes; — and  the  blackberry  bushes 
were  higher  than  David's  head.  And  such  ber- 
ries as  loaded  them  down !  Lawtons  are  big 
(sweet  too  if  you  let  them  alone  long  enough) 
Kittatinny  and  Wilson  have  their  merits;  but  the 
real  wild  flavour  of  sun  and  soil,  gets  into  no  ber- 
ries 1  ever  saw,  as  it  does  into  those  in   the  corner 

of  the   harvest  fields.     And  farmer  Dickson  had 

cm) 


CROSS  CORNERS.  305 

bidden  David  "  get  Eunice  Keith,  and  come  and 
pick  'em  every  one." 

It  was  an  afternoon  of  unqualified  delight.  Eu- 
nice chattered  as  fast  as  her  tongue  could  run,  all 
the  way  along  the  road;  and  yet  did  not  get 
near  through  before  they  reached  the  field  and 
began  their  pretty  work.  So  every  now  and  then, 
as  they  went  from  corner  to  corner,  or  when 
David  mounted  the  fence  to  be  a  match  for  some 
especially  tall  blackberry  bush,  Eunice  would  sit 
down  on  the  ground  and  fan  herself  with  her  sun- 
bonnet,  and  talk, — or  take  up  her  story  as  they 
edged  along  by  the  exquisite  bending  grain. 

'  And  O  Davy,'  she  said,  '  wasn't  it  a  big  lesson 
about  forgetting  whose  child  I  was  ?  I  first  forgot 
I  was  mother's,  and  then  I  forgot  I  was  God's.' 

'  "  Your  Father  knoweth " — '  David  quoted, 
looking  down  at  her  from  the  top  of  the  fence. 
*  I've  taken  those  words  for  a  pillow  many  a  time, 
Eunice  Keith.' 

'  For  a  pillow  ! '  said  Eunice. 

'  Yes.  Laid  my  heart  down  on  them  and  gone 
to  sleep.     Here  small  child — catch  these.' 

'Well  I  guess  that  was  what  I  did,'  said  Eunice, 
skilfully  holding  up  her  apron  so  as  to  break  the 
fall  of  a  bunch  of  great  blackberries.     '  I  went  to 


306  CROSS  CORNERS. 

sleep,  too.  But  I  think  I  took  the  other  words  for 
a  pillow,  Davy ; — "  He  careth  for  you."  ' 

'They're  not  far  apart,'  said  David,  smiling  at 
her :  David  did  not  often  smile,  but  it  was  wonder- 
fully pleasant  when  he  did.  '  For  God  to  know, 
and  for  God  to  care,  are  pretty  much  one  and  the 
same  thing.' 

'  But  Davy,'  said  the  little  girl,  gazing  up  at  him, 
'  1  did  go  to  sleep,  but  after  I  waked  up  I  felt  'most 
as  bad  as  ever.  It's  so  lonely  without  my  kitten  ! ' — 
The  eyes  came  down  in  a  flush  of  tears. 

'  Yes,  yes,'  said  David,  '  I  daresay.  But  the  Lord 
knows  all  about  that  too,  Eunice  Keith.  How 
many  storms  do  you  suppose  these  blackberry  bush- 
es had  to  go  through,  before  they  could  bear  such 
fruit  as  this  ? ' — and  David  tossed  her  down  another 
great  cluster. 

'  Aren't  they  splendid  ?  '  said  Eunice.  '  I'll  take 
this  bunch  home  to  mother.' 

'No,  you're  to  eat  that  yourself,'  said  David. 
'  I've  got  a  bigger  one  yet  for  her.  Shall  I  find  you 
another  kitten,  small  child?' 

'  No,  I  think  not,'  said  Eunice  with  one  of  her 
long  sighs.  '  It  wouldn't  be  my  own  dear  little 
pussy,  you  know,  Davy.' 

David  picked  on  for  a  few  moments  in  silence. 


CI^OSS   CORXEJ^S.  307 

'  What  did  jou  do  with  the  swallow's  nest?  '  he 
inquired  suddenly. 

*The  swallow's  nest  ?  '  said  Eunice,  rather  aston- 
ished that  anybody  should  be  thinking  of  swallows 
while  she  was  talking  of  her  cat.  '  0  it's  at  home. 
I  kept  it,  because  it  was  so  queer,  and  because 
mother  said  such  nice  things  about  it.' 

'  Well  if  I  were  you,'  said  David, — '  now  you 
haven't  the  cat  to  look  after, — if  I  were  you,  smaU 
child,  I'd  set  up  a  collection.' 

'  A  collection  ?  '  cried  Eunice,  her  eyes  growing 
very  big  and  bright;  —  'O  Davy,  what  do  you 
mean  ? ' 

David  jumped  down  from  his  perch  on  the  fence, 
and  came  round  to  the  lower  picking,  leading  the 
way  to  another  corner. 

'  I  mean  collecting  a  whole  lot  of  queer  things,' 
he  said  :  '  you  know  you  called  the  swallows'  nests 
'  queer.'  Well,  pick  up  all  the  queer  things  you 
can  find,  and  put  'eni  by  ;  and  then  in  time,  small 
child,  you'll  have  a  collection.' 

'But  I  never  find  any  queer  things,'  said  Eu- 
nice.    'The  swallows'  nest  just  tumbled  down.' 

'  Plenty  of  other  things  wall  tumble  down,  as  soon 
as  you  begin  to  watch  for  them,'  said  David.  '  I'vo 
got  a  few  myself,  that  I'll  give  you  to  start  with.' 


308  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  0  Davy,  how  beautiful ! '  said  Eunice,  getting 
hold  of  his  hand  and  swinging  it  back  and  forth 
in  her  excitement.  '  Davy,  you're  just  the  dearest 
boy  in  the  whole  world.  Though  I  do  think 
you're  queer  too,'  she  added  honestly.  David 
laughed  a  little. 

'  "Well  you  can't  pick  nie  up,'  he  said, — '  Miss 
Jane  has  taken  that  in  hand.  I'm  bound  to  go  in- 
to her  collection,  small  child.' 

'  Now  ?   soon  ? '  said  Eunice. 

'Next  week.  She  says  she  won't  wait  any 
longer;  and  so  she's  settled  it  her  own  way  with 
farmer  Dickson.' 

*  She  always  settles  things  her  own  way,  I 
think,'  said  Eunice.  '  But  oh,  Davy,  when  I  get 
my  collection,  what  shall  I  keep  it  in  ? ' 

'  True,'  said  David :  '  queer  things  must  have  a 
house  to  live  in.  Well  by  the  time  you  get  half  a 
dozen  together,  I  daresay  I'll  find  odd  minutes 
enough  to  knock  you  up  some  sort  of  a  box  to 
hold  'em.' 

'  O  Davy,  Davy  ! ' — was  all  Eunice  could  say. 
She  went  to  picking  berries  as  hard  as  she 
could,  to  relieve  her  feelings.  Then  she  began 
again. 

'I    wonder    where    Mis.s    Jane    i.s    riding,'    she 


CROSS  CORNERS.  309 

remarked.  '  She  said  she  would  try  her  new 
horse  today.' 

'  Her  new  horse  ?   that  black  one  ?  ' 

'  Yes/  said  Eunice.  '  At  least  she  called  him 
Black  Jack.' 

'  I  wish  she  had  waited  till  next  week/  said 
David.     '  He's  a  vicious  little  beast.' 

'Maybe  she'll  come  this  way,  and  then  we  can 
see  how  he  goes/  said  Eunice.  '  I  guess  she's 
coming  now,  Davy,  I  hear  somebody  riding.' 

David  started  up  to  listen. 

'  Somebody's  riding  too  fast — '  he  said.  And 
then  in  a  second  he  had  tossed  down  his  basket 
and  thrown  himself  over  the  fence  into  the  high 
road. 

Not  guessing  why  he  went  in  such  haste,  but 
from  pure  spirit  of  sympathy,  and  a  little  curious 
too;  Eimice  set  down  her  own  basket  and  followed 
David; — only  she  crept  through  the  fence,  instead 
of  leaping  over  it.  And  hardly  had  she  straight- 
ened herself  up  again,  and  quite  before  she  could 
get  near  David,  down  the  road  at  the  top  of  his 
speed  came  Black  Jack.  He  was  saddled  and  bri- 
dled as  if  all  ready  for  a  mount,  but  nobody  was 
on  his  back;  and  the  bridle  was  down  over  his 
head,  and  trailing  in  the  dust. 


310  CHOSS  CORNERS. 

Eunice  gave  a  cry  as  she  saw  David  spring  for- 
ward to  meet  the  horse,  but  before  it  was  well  out 
of  her  lips,  he  had  caught  the  end  of  the  bridle, 
and  brought  the  horse  to  a  stand.  To  a  stand 
on  his  hind  legs  at  first,  it  must  be  owned, — rear- 
ing, plunging,  kicking; — what  did  not  Black  Jack 
do  to  get  away  !  But  David  was  very  strong, — he 
had  not  done  farm  work  so  long  for  nothing; — 
and  he  knew  about  horses,  and  was  skilful  too. 
And  so  Black  Jack  presently  found  out  that  he 
bad  come  to  the  end  of  his  fling,  for  that  time. 
But  David  bade  Eunice  keep  her  distance  still. 

'■  But  0  Davy,  Davy ! '  cried  the  little  girl, 
wringing  her  hands,  '  where  can  Miss  Jane  be  ? ' 

'  Maybe  she  hadn't  been  on  yet,'  said  David. 
'  See — the  bridle  was  over  his  head, — so  he  may 
just  have  pulled  away  from  that  groom.'  David's 
estimation  of  the  mannerless  official  was  rather 
low. 

'  O  no  ! — 0  no ! '  Eunice  said.  '  She's  been  on, 
— and  now  she's  off!  Look,  Davy, — there's  her 
little  white  handkerchief  in  the  saddle  pocket.' 

David  grew  pale  at  that.  He  drew  Black  Jack 
swiftly  along  to  the  fence,  and  tied  him  there  so 
securely,  that  while  the  bridle  held  together  he 
could  not  get  away;  and  then  himself  set  off  up 


CROSS  CORNERS.  311 

the  road  on  the  full  run.  And  Eunice  followed,  as 
best  she  could. 

Now  the  fact  was,  that  Miss  Jane  was  quite  safe 
and  unhurt,  and  had  not  been  thrown  at  all.  She 
had  managed  her  unruly  little  horse  with  great 
satisfaction  to  herself  and  disgust  to  him,  till  she 
came  to  a  wild  bit  of  roadside  where  there  was  a 
tuft  of  fringed  gentian.  There  are  not  many  peo- 
ple that  can  resist  fringed  gentian, — and  Miss 
Jane  never  could.  So  down  she  jumped,  put  the 
bridle  over  her  arm,  picked  her  flowers,  and  pre- 
pared to  mount.  But  when  it  came  to  that,  Black 
Jack  objected.  She  had  had  her  fun — now  he 
meant  to  have  his.  Miss  Jane  coaxed  and  scolded, 
— led  him  up  to  the  fence,  led  him  up  to  a  rock ; 
— but  mounting  blocks  lose  interest  when  you 
don't  intend  to  be  mounted,  and  Black  Jack  grew 
stiffer  and  sulkier,  and  at  last  tried  his  favourite 
trick  of  walking  on  his  hind  legs  and  pawing  at 
his  companion.  And  then  Miss  Jane  let  go,  and 
Black  Jack  ran. 

Miss  Jane  waited  for  the  dust  to  settle,  and  then 
followed  leisurely  on.  But  now  as  she  came  walk- 
ing down  the  road,  with  her  bunch  of  fringed 
gentians,  a  strange  sight  met  her  eyes.  First, 
"  one  running  alone,"  (to  quote  the  old   watchman 


312  CROSS   CORNERS. 

in  David's  time)  ;  and  then  far  behind  him,  but 
keeping  manfully  on,  crying  and  sobbing  as  she 
came,  a  little  girl  without  even  a  sunbonnet  to 
cover  her  head. 

David  came  to  a  stand  instantly. 

'  Miss  Jane  !— Oh  !— ' 

She  saw  the  boy's  eyes  glance  up,  and  knew  as 
well  as  if  she  had  heard  it  that  there  was  a  thanks- 
giving over  her.  And  then  before  she  could  get 
at  the  cause  of  things  (for  David  was  well  out  of 
breath)  little  Eunice  came  panting  up;  with  such 
a  dusty,  tear-marked  face,  as  would  have  been 
very  laughable  if  it  had  not  been  so  woe  begone. 
It  took  a  minute  or  two  for  the  tides  to  turn  in 
the  child's  heart;  and  when  she  first  saw  her 
friend — alive  and  unhurt — Eunice  cried  harder 
than  ever. 

'  What  in  the  world  are  you  youngsters  about  ? ' 
said  Miss  Jane.  '  What  is  the  matter  ?  Is  there  a 
consignment  of  panthers  suddenly  turned  loose  on 
the  village  ? — or  are  you  scurrying  away  from  an 
invoice  of  bears  ?  ' 

'  O — no — we — were — running — ' 

*  Well  I  saw  that  for  myself,'  said  Miss  Jane. 
— '  After  you,' — Eunice  got  out. 

♦  Not  after  me,  for  1  was  coming  this  way,'  cor- 


CROSS  CORNERS.  313 

rected  Miss  Jane.  '  Where  is  that  boy  going 
now  ?  ' — for  David  had  instantly  turned  back,  the 
moment  he  knew  Miss  Jane  was  safe. 

'  Black  Jack  is  down  there,'  said  Eunice,  getting 
her  breath  again.  '  Davy  tied  him  to  the  fence. 
And  we  thought  he'd  thrown  you  off,  Miss  Jane.' 

'  And  so  you  both  ran  to  pick  me  up  ! '  said  Miss 
Jane.     '  Well  I  declare  ! ' — But  her  eyes  filled. 

'  Yes  ma'am,'  Eunice  repeated.  '  We  thought 
he  had.' 

'That  wouldn't  matter,'  said  Miss  Jane  lightly, 
as  she  stooped  down  by  the  child.  '  Cheer  up. 
Midget !  1  am  all  right.  What  if  he  had  ?  Peo- 
ple fall  off  every  day.' 

'  Yes  ma'am,'  the  little  girl  answered,  with  a  sigh 
that  was  almost  a  sob. 

'  Then  what  is  the  matter  ?  '  repeated  Miss  Jane, 
giving  her  a  little  shake.  'Don't  you  see  I  am  not 
hurt,  you  foolish  Midget  ?     1  didn't  even  fall  off.' 

*  No  ma'am — I'm  so  glad, — '  Eunice  said,  softly 
stroking  her  friend's  face  with  a  hand  on  which, 
happily,  the  blackberry  juice  was  quite  dry.  '  Poor 
Miss  Jane  !  dear  Miss  Jane  ! — But  then  you  said — ' 
and  now  the  little  stained  fingers  made  a  pause  on 
Miss  Jane's  pink  and  white  cheek, — '  you  know 
you  said  you  were  not  a  Christian,  Miss  Jane.' 


314  CROSS  CORNERS. 

If  the  hand  had  been  dripping  from  the  dark 
berries,  I  doubt  if  ]Miss  Jane  could  have  noticed 
anything,  all  along,  but  how  it  trembled.  But  now 
she  changed  colour,  as  Eunice's  broken  train  of 
reasoning  came  out  clear  and  whole  before  her  eyes ; 
and  taking  down  the  little  hand,  and  keeping  it 
fast  in  her  own,  Miss  Jane  rose  to  her  feet. 

'  I  believe  you  want  to  pick  me  up  both  ways,' 
she  said.  '  Come,  let's  go  and  look  after  Black  Jack, 
lie  may  have  run  away  with  David  by  this  time.' 

'0  he  couldn't  do  that,'  said  Eunice,  with  a 
child's  delightful  ease  at  changing  subjects.  '  Davy 
can  do  anything  with  horses.' 

'Can  he! — you  know  he's  coming  to  manage 
mine,  next  week.' 

'  Yes  ma'am.  Do  you  think.  Miss  Jane,  that  he'll 
have  time  to  make  my  box  after  he  goes  ?  '  inquired 
Eunice.     '  Some  very  rainy  day  ? ' 

'  Your  box  ?     What  box  ? ' 

Eunice  explained.  But  now  Miss  Jane  laugh- 
ed,— laughed  till  she  nearly  cried, — at  the  idea  of 
Eunice  turning  collector. 

'  I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you,  Midget,'  she  said. 
'  When  you  get  together  one  dozen  things  that  are 
worth  looking  at,  and  shew  them  to  me,  I'll  give 
you  a  box  with  a  glass  front,  that  will  hold  them 


CROSS  CORNEHS.  315 

and  a  dozen  more.     But  I  am  to  judge,  you  know.' 

'  Twelve  things  ! '  Eunice  cried,  with  her  cheeks 
aglow.  '  And  a  real  box  with  a  glass  front ! — 0 
dear  Miss  Jane,  how  good  you  are  ! ' — 

'  Not  a  bit  good,'  said  the  young  lady  promptly. 
'  You  know  better.  And  you  haven't  got  the 
twelve  things  yet.' 

'  I've  got  one — '  said  Eunice.  '  And  Davy  said — 
O, must  I  pick  'em  all  up  myself?' 

'  Get  them  any  way  you  like — except  stealing,' 
said  Miss  Jane. 

'  Because  Davy  said,'  the  little  girl  went  on,  not 
heeding  this  last  suggestion,  '  that  he'd  give  me  a 
few  things  himself, — and  they  would  count,  you 
know.  Miss  Jane.' 

'  Let  them  count ! '  said  Miss  Jane.  '  The  sooner 
you  get  the  twelve  things  together,  the  sooner  I 
shall  have  the  fun  of  seeing  them. 

And  so  it  was  settled.  David  led  Black  Jack 
home,  and  Miss  Jane  went  clear  down  to  the  cot- 
tage with  Eunice,  to  see  Mrs.  Keith. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

It  takes  time,  however,  to  collect  even  twelve 
things  that  are  worth  seeing; — and  in  one  way  it 
was  very  good  for  Eunice  that  she  was  to  submit 
them  all  to  Miss  Jane's  critical  eyes,  for  it  made 
her  much  more  careful  what  things  she  picked  up. 
Or  rather,  what  things  she  put  away.  Pick  up, 
she  did,  like  most  young  collectors,  in  some- 
what wholesale  fashion;  but  when  slire  thought  of 
putting  away  to  shew  to  Miss  Jane,  then  Eunice 
grew  much  more  careful.  Everything  must  be 
labelled  (Miss  Jane  had  insisted  upon  that)  and 
when  it  came  to  writing  down:  "A  little  stone 
I  picked  up  in  the  road, "  —  why  then  Eunice 
took  another  good  look  at  the  stone  itself.  Also, 
as  must  happen,  her  own  taste  and  judgment  grew 
with  the  exercise;  and  often  something  which  was 
'  perfectly  lovely '  two  weeks  ago,  was  this  week 
tossed    contemptuously   out   as  'rubbisli  I '       And 

Eunice  had  to  do  it  all  alone.     Mrs.  Keith  quite 
(316) 


CROSS  CORNERS.  317 

declined  to  judge  between  thing  and  thing;  truly 
saying  that  it  was  not  to  be  her  collection ;  and  even 
David  was  rather  vague  in  his  advice,  and  content- 
ed himself  for  the  most  part  with  a  good  examining 
talk  over  the  article  in  question ; — skilfully  throw- 
ing into  relief  its  good  or  bad  points,  so  that  Eu- 
nice might  see  them,  if  she  would,  and  still  judge 
for  herself. 

It  is  hard  to  tell  what  a  delight  this  was.  Per- 
haps nothing  could  have  been  better  for  Eunice 
just  now,  than  this  combined  plan  of  David  and 
Miss  Jane.  It  partly  pushed  aside  the  loss  of  the 
kitten,  and  out  doors  or  in,  gave  Eunice  always 
something  delightful  to  do  and  to  study,  and  drew 
on  wonderful  talks  between  her  and  her  mother. 
Often  these  talks  left  a  little  store  of  questions  to 
be  referred  to  David;  who  having  been  all  his  life 
an  out-of-doors  boy,  knew  a  great  deal  of  out-of-door 
things.  They  saw  a  good  deal  of  David  in  these 
days:  for  though  Eunice  could  not  now  hunt  him 
up  in  the  shoemaker's  garden;  and  though  Miss 
Jane  kept  him  busy;  yet  she  gave  him  plenty  of 
time  for  himself,  and  often  sent  him  to  Mrs.  Keith's 
with  a  message  or  a  roll  of  work.  He  had  as  he 
promised  turned  over  to  Eunice  three  or  four  curi- 
ous or  pretty  things  of  his  own  collecting;  but  still 


318  CA'OSS  CORNERS. 

the  twelve  that  Mies  Jaue  demanded  were  slow  to 
raake  up. 

Meantime  it  was  a  never  ending  delight  to  Eu- 
nice, to  see  Miss  Jane  go  by  on  horseback  with 
David  at  her  heels;  and  once  finding  this  out, 
the  young  lady  generally  contrived  to  ride  by  that 
way,  either  going  or  returning.  David  was  on© 
of  those  boys  to  whom  ridership  comes  by  nature, 
and  whom  all  horses  understand,  and  Miss  Jane's 
somewhat  skittish  little  animals  improved  so  much 
under  his  wise  management,  that  they  were  worth 
as  much  again. 

Miss  Jane  was  delighted; — and  David  himself 
was  so  pleasant  and  well-behaved,  and  so  quaintly 
interesting  to  the  gay  young  h\dy,  that  many  a 
time  when  she  drew  bridle  after  a  long  swift  trot, 
Miss  Jane  would  call  David  up  alongside  of  her, 
and  they  would  talk  up  one  hill  and  down  another, 
till  the  next  rapid  stretch  began. 

Eunice  always  ran  to  the  door  when  the  sharp 
ring  of  hoofs  came  near,  kissing  her  hand  impar- 
tially to  both  riders ;  and  Mrs.  Keith,  bending 
over  her  work,  gave  thanks  that  all  her  fears  over 
the  boy's  early  tall,  slim  growth,  and  hard  work, 
were  set  at  rest.  Brown,  David  had  been  before, 
but  now  he  grew  ruddy  as  well  :    meals  at  Cross 


CROSS  COJiNERS.  319 

Comers  were  very  diflferent  from  Mrs.  Crusty  s — 
thougli  in  these  days  it  may  be  said,  she  would 
have  at  least  waited  for  him. 

''  When  ye  need  na'  their  countenance, 
"  A'  body  kens  ye." 

It  was  a  fair  day  in  early  October,  The  riders 
had  just  trotted  out  of  sight.  Eunice  came  back 
with  a  sigh  of  pleasure — which  was  not  quite  all 
pleasure — to  the  little  round  table  within.  Mrs. 
Keith  was  at  the  moment  at  work  upon  a  '  splash- 
er,' outlining  a  very  vigourous  party  of  ducks  that 
were  disporting  themselves  in  every  possible  posi- 
tion.    Eunice  stood  watching  her. 

'  David  said,'  she  remarked,  '  that  if  the  Lord 
wanted  him  to  be  a  minister,  he  would  send  the 
shoes, — now  the  shoes  have  come,  mother,  do  you 
suppose  he'll  be  a  minister  ?  ' 

'It  does  not  exactly  follow,'  said  Mrs.  Keith, 
*  but  I  should  not  be  surprised.' 

'  Then  he'd  go  away  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

Eunice  stood  thinking. 

'  Mother,'  she  began  again,  '  will  Miss  Jane  come 
here  again  next  summer  ? ' 

'  I  do  not  believe  she  knows,  herself,  Eunice.' 


320  CJ?OSS  CORNERS. 

*  I  wonder  what  we  shall  do  if  she  don't ! '  said 
the  little  girl,  rather  drearily. 

'  And  /  wonder,'  said  Mrs.  Keith,  skilfully  work- 
ing in  the  feathers  of  a  duck's  tail,  '  whether  my 
child  is  learning  to  depend  on  Miss  Jane  too 
much  ? ' 

'  0  I  daresay  I  am — you  know  that's  the  way  I 
do  things,'  said  Eunice  with  an  impatient  breath. 
'  Mother,  are  we  going  to  have  any  Thanksgiving 
this  year  ? ' 

'  /am  having  it,  every  day,'  said  Mrs.  Keith. 
'  Yes,  of  course — but  you  know  what   I   mean,' 
said  Eunice.     '  I  mean  a  real  Thanksgiving  dinner, 
ou  Thanksgiving  day.' 

'  We'll  try  to  have  it  '  real,'  wliatever  it  is,  when 
the  day  comes,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  But  sit  down 
here  Eunice,  and  hem  this  bit  of  stuff  for  me,  and 
I'll  tell  you  a  Thanksgiving  story.  A  story  of  a 
Thanksgiving  dinner  in  my  great,  great  grand- 
father's house.' 

'  Was  it  this  house  ? '  said  Eunice,  seating  her- 
self in  high  glee,  with  the  clouds  all  cleared  away. 
'No  indeed, — nor  in  tliis  part  of  the  country. 
And  the  place  where  it  stood  was  very  wild,  in 
the  deep  forest.  You  think  this  house  is  too 
small,  Eunice,  for  just  you  and  me  ;  but  that  other 


CROSS  CORNERS.  321 

little  house  in  the  clearing  had  but  one  room,  all 
told,  and  that  was  anything  but  large.' 

'  One  room  ?  dear  me  !  '  said  Eunice.  '  But 
then  I  suppose  your  great,  great,  grandfather 
didn't  want  much,  just  for  himself 

'  Not  for  himself  But  he  had  a  wife,  and  I 
don't  know  how  many  children.' 

'  Ever  so  many  children ! '  cried  Eunice.  '  And 
one  room  ! '  Well  if  any  of  'em  were  like  me, 
they  must  have  growled  and  grumbled  enough.' 

'  I  do  not  know  what  the  children  did,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith,  'but  I  am  quite  sure  the  father  and  mother 
did  not  growl  and  grumble.  There  is  a  certain 
proverb  which  sometimes  makes  a  little  room  look 
very  big.  "  It  is  better  to  dwell  in  a  corner  of  the 
housetop,  than  with  a  brawling  woman  in  a  wide 
house."  And  so  when  my  great,  great,  grand- 
father looked  at  his  busy,  patient,  little  wife,  he 
must  have  felt  that  his  "  corner  of  the  housetop  " 
was  quite  a  large  place,  since  it  held  so  much  that 
was  so  very  precious.' 

'  Then  I  suppose  she  had  another  proverb  to 
help  out  the  dinner — '  said  Eunice,  with  a  little 
gesture  of  her  head  over  the  wiiite  canvass. 

'  I  make  no  doubt  of  it,'  said  ]Mrs.  Keith  smiling. 

*  This,  Eunice,  for  instance.    "  Better  little  with  the 
21 


322  CJiOSS  CORNERS. 

fear  of  the  Lord,  than  great  treasure  and  trouble 
therewith."  Or  this:  "  Better  a  dinner  of  herbs, 
where  love  is,  than  a  stalled  ox  and  hatred  there- 
with."— What  the  Lord  sends,  is  always  '  better  ' — 
and  never  worse — than  anything  else.' 

'  Well — '  said  Eunice  with  a  tone  that  half  grant- 
ed, half  denied,  the  fact.  '  I  don't  like  a  dinner  of 
herbs  myself, — but  I'm  glad  they  enjoyed  it. 
What  sort  of  herbs  did  they  have  ?  ' 

'  1  am  not  sure  that  I  can  tell  you  all.  Cresses 
doubtless  grew  by  the  spring,  and  probably  pepper 
grass  by  the  roadside.  They  woultl  help  to  season 
dry  bread,  as  we  know^  Then  there  must  have 
been  wild  greens  of  many  sorts  fit  for  cooking: 
dandelions,  dock,  and  poke  weed,  and  young  milk- 
weed shoots,  and  the  wild  ranunculus;  —  with 
sassafras  buds  for  tea.' 

Eunice  drew  her  eyebrows  together  very  disap- 
provingly. 

'But  I  suppose  they  had  something  else  too  ? ' 
she  said. 

'  After  a  while,  the  father  of  the  house,  with  much 
hard  labour,  cleared  a  bit  of  ground  where  he 
could  plant  corn  and  potatoes.' 

'  Cleared  it  ? '  said  Eunice  :  '  cleared  away  the 
weeds  ? ' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  323 

'  Cleared  away  the  forest.  For  it  was  all  forest 
when  they  went  there;  and  my  great,  great,  grand- 
father cut  down  the  trees  in  his  clearing  and 
stacked  the  wood,  and  burned  off  the  brush.  The 
stumps  of  the  great  trees  had  to  be  left  where  they 
stood;  and  the  ploughing  and  planting  had  to 
be  done  in  between.  The  father  did  all  that;  and 
the  mother  took  care  of  the  children,  the  cow,  the 
pig,  the  cooking,  the  mending,  and  everything  else 
there  was  to  do.' 

'  Well  I  should  say,  that  was  hard  work,'  Eunice 
remarked,  hemming  her  canvass  with  the  air  of  one 
whose  work  is  easy. 

'  Very  hard.  Too  hard  perhaps,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith  with  a  sigh ;  '  for  the  father  took  sick  and 
died,  and  then  the  mother  had  to  struggle  on 
alone.' 

'  Not  there ^  in  the  woods?'  said  Eunice. 

*  There,  in  the  woods.  She  had  no  money  to  go 
anywhere  else.' 

'  But  who  ploughed  and  planted  for  her  ?  '  said 
Eunice. 

'  Her  own  two  hands  managed  it  all,  with  only 
such  help  as  the  children  could  give.  Out  doors 
and  indoors,  all  the  labour  now  came  upon  her.' 

'  I  don't  see  why  in  the  world  she  didn't  die  too,' 


324  CJiOSS  CORNERS. 

said  Eunice.  'Don't  it  ever  kill  people  to  get  so 
tired  ? ' 

'  Sometimes.  But  every  day,  in  the  midst  of  all 
her  hard  work,  my  great,  great,  grandmother  took 
one  thorough  rest.' 

'0,  did  she  !  '  said  Eunice.  'Well  of  course  that 
alters  the  case.  But  I  don't  see  how  she  found 
time.' 

'  She  found  it  as  one  has  to  do  for  a  must-have,' 
said  Mrs.  Keith :  '  she  tooJc  it.  Every  day,  Eunice, 
no  matter  how  busy  she  was, — and  no  matter  how 
tired ;  whether  crops  were  waiting,  or  weeds  were 
growing;  —  every  day  the  lonely  little  mother  sat 
down  with  her  children  round  her,  to  read  and  talk 
over  four  chapters  of  the  Bible.  Whether  she  did 
it  at  one  time  or  at  two,  I  do  not  know;  but  every 
day  it  was  done.' 

'  And  that  rested  her — '  said  Eunice. 

'As  nothing  else  could.' 

'Yes, — I  understand  now  how  she  came  to  be 
your  great  grandmother,'  said  Eunice,  with  one  of 
her  sage  looks.  '  Did  she  teach  'em  other  things 
too  ? ' 

'  I  think  there  was  )io  time  for  that.  But  after 
a  while,  as  the  children  grew  old  enough,  they 
were  sent  to  school  for  some  months  every  year. 


CROSS  CORNEJiS.  325 

It  was  a  little  bit  of  a  schoolhouse,  four  miles 
away;  and  they  had  to  go  on  bare  feet  through 
the  brush  to  get  there.' 

'  And  then  when  they  were  all  oif,'  said  Eunice, 
'your  great  grandmother  must  have  had  a  line 
time  to  do  up  the  work.' 

'  I  don't  know^ — '  said  Mrs.  Keith :  '  sometimes 
when  1  think  of  it,  I  wonder  how  she  could  work 
at  all.  But  she  must  have  learned  to  pray  as  she 
worked,  and  work  as  she  prayed.  For  there  were 
Indians  in  those  woods,  Eunice;  and  wolves,  and 
bears; — and  I  suppose  that  just  the  mother's  pray- 
ers carried  the  children  safe  through.  She  put 
them  all  in  the  Lord's  hand,  every  morning:  and 
whatever  is  trusted  to  him  is  well  kept.  So  you 
must  think  of  the  children  trooping  off  through 
the  forest,  and  a  convoy  of  unseen  angels  about 
them  all  the  way.  And  the  little  mother  looking 
after  them  from  the  door.  I  think  she  must  have 
often  turned  back  to  her  work,  saying  to  herself: 
"  I  know  whom  I  have  believed,  and  am  persuad- 
ed that  he  is  able  to  keep  that  which  I  have  com- 
mitted to  him." ' 

Eunice  had  dropped  her  work,  and  was  gazing 
up  at  her  mother  with  eyes  that  now  slowly  over- 
flowed. 


326  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  Just  like  you  ! ' — she  remarked,  tossing  off  the 
tears  and  picking  up  her  canvass  again.  •  1  hope 
they  had  something  better  to  eat  than  herbs,  when 
they  got  home.' 

'  They  had  potatoes  and  milk  sometimes;  ttad 
sometimes  corn  mush  and  maple  syrup, — and  after 
the  pig  was  killed  in  the  fall,  there  was  now  and 
then  a  slice  of  pork  for  dinner.  With  plenty  of  the 
best  cold  water  to  drink,  and  plenty  of  berries  in 
the  summer,  and  plenty  of  nuts  in  the  muter.' 

'Maple  syrup  is  lovely,'  said  Eunice;  'but  I 
never  sliall  like  mush.' 

'They  did;  and  they  grew  strong  and  healthy 
and  hearty  as  pine  knots.  Lessons  were  learned 
well;  and  really,  the  thing  they  wished  for  most, 
was  more  books  to  read.  They  had  very  few 
books;  and  could  only  read  those  over  and  over 
and  over  again.  I  must  own,  however,  that 
Thanksgiving  day  tried  them  a  little,  as  it  some- 
times does  you,  Eunice.' 

'  Well  it  c?oe6','  said  Eunice,  dropping  her  work 
again  and  folding  her  hands  round  her  knees: 
'  there  is  not  the  least  doubt  about  that.  I  know 
yoa  always  keep  it,  just  as  if  there  were  half  a 
dozen  turkeys  and  ten  pumpkin  pies, — but  I  like 
to  see  things  look  thankful,  lor  my  part.' 


CROSS  CORNERS.  327 

*  So  when  it  came  to  be  the  day  before  Thanksgiv- 
ing, one  year,'  Mrs.  Keith  went  on,  smiling  at  her, 
'  the  boys  put  their  heads  together  to  see  what  they 
couid  do.  There  were  no  friends  to  in\4te,  and 
none  to  invite  them :  still  there  were  enough  in 
the  little  clearing  to  eat  a  big  '  Thanksgiving  din- 
ner,' if  it  could  be  had,  and  the  two  boys  took  the 
old  gun  and  marched  off  into  the  deep  woods.' 

'  Did  they  know  how  to  shoot?  '  Eunice  asked. 

'  O  yes, — at  least  they  knew  how  to  fire  the  gun, 
so  as  to  scare  away  the  hawks,  or  any  bear  or  fox 
or  wolf  that  came  to  make  acquaintance  with 
the  family ; — and  a  few  times  I  think  they  had  really 
hit  a  squirrel  or  a  wild  pigeon.  A  long  distance 
from  the  clearing  where  the  house  stood,  there  was 
another  open  spot — a  little  meadow — where  once 
the  beavers  had  built  a  dam ;  set  right  in  the  midst 
of  the  woods,  and  with  very  big  trees  all  round  it. 
There  was  a  lovely  little  pool  of  water  here,  and 
fresh  green  grass ;  and  the  boys  knew  that  the  wild 
game  of  the  woods  liked  the  place,  and  would  come 
there  to  eat  and  to  drink  and  to  sun  themselves. 
So  they  marched  on  and  on  till  they  drew  near  the 
meadow ;  and  then  crept  softly  along  under  the  big 
trees  till  they  could  peep  out  and  see  what  might 
be  there.' 


328  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  Suppose  there  had  been  Indians  ? '  said  Eunice, 
'  Probably  theix  the  boys  would  have  crept  back 
again,  and  afterwards  run  for  their  lives,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith.  'But  there  were  no  Indians  there  today, 
when  the  boys  looked  out  from  behind  the  trees, 
hardly  daring  to  breathe  lest  they  should  frighten 
the  game  away.  And  as  careful  as  they  were,  five 
deer  that  were  feeding  in  the  meadow  heard  them 
or  smelt  them,  and  went  off  like  the  wind  into  the 
thicket.' 

'  What  a  pity  ! '  said  Eunice,  '  Five  deer !  — ' 
'  I  doubt  if  the  boys  could  have  shot  them,  even 
if  the  pretty  things  had  waited  a  little,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith.  '  But  the  deer  were  not  all.  Some  wild 
ducks  were  swimming  and  diving  in  the  pool;  and 
on  the  green  grass  was  a  small  flock  of  wild 
turkeys.' 

'  Wild  turkeys ! '  cried  Eunice :  '  ivild  turkeys  ? 
Why  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.' 

'  You  never  saw  such  a  thing,  either,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith :  '  wild  turkeys  are  three  or  four  times  as  big 
as  the  tame  ones;  and  one  of  these  was  a  gobbler, 
and  very  big  indciMl.  The  boys  consulted  for  a 
minute,  under  their  breath,  what  was  best  to  do. 
There  would  be  no  chance  for  a  second  shot;  for 
the  birds  would  fly  away,  the  minute  they  heard 


CROSS  CORNERS.  329 

the  gun.  The  elder  boy  took  the  old  firearm, 
raised  it  to  his  shoulder;  looked  steadily  along 
the  '  sights '  till  the  big  gobbler  was  in  view,  and 
fired.  And  in  one  minute  the  ducks  had  dived 
and  hid,  the  turkey  hens  had  taken  flight,  and  the 
gobbler  lay  dead  on  the  green  grass.' 

'Well  done,  boys  ! '  said  Eunice.  'The  biggest 
of  the  flock!' 

'  Yes,  and  he  was  very  big ;  weighing  perhaps 
thirty  pounds.  So  the  next  question  was  how  to 
get  him  home.     How  do  you  think  they  did  ?  ' 

'  Dragged  him  ?'  Eunice  suggested. 

'  Dear  me,  no !  There  would  not  be  much  left  of 
even  a  thirty-pound  turkey,  that  was  dragged  so 
far  through  the  bush.  No:  they  remembered  in 
their  mother's  big  Bible  a  picture  of  the  spies,  car- 
rying home  a  specimen  bunch  of  grapes  from  the 
Promised  Land;  and  they  tried  that  plan.  They 
tied  the  turkey's  legs  together,  chose  a  long,  stout 
stick  of  the  many  that  lay  about;  swung  their  game 
on  it;  and  then,  each  boy  with  one  end  of  the  stick 
resting  on  his  shoulder,  they  marched  home.' 

'  How  smart  they  were  ! '  said  Eunice.  '  Why  1 
never  should  have  thought  of  the  spies — if  I'd 
had  twenty  turkeys  to  carry.' 

'  When  the  boys  came  to  the  edge  of  their  own 


330  C/IOSS  CORNERS. 

clearing,  they  gave  a  great  shout;  and  out  came 
the  mother  and  the  girls  to  see  what  was  the  mat- 
ter;— and  who  xi:ade  most  noise  then,  I  do  not 
know ;  but  probably  the  boys.' 

'  The  girls  must  have  had  a  fine  time  picking 
the  turkey,'  said  Eunice. 

'Yes  indeed-  And  what  do  you  think  the  boys 
did  next  ?  They  went  ofi'  into  a  swamp  and  gath- 
ered cranberries  enough  to  match  such  a  big  tur- 
key.' 

'  Cranherries  too  !  '  said  Eunice,  —  and  Mrs. 
Keith  thought  she  heard  a  little  sigh.  '  Mother, 
how  did  they  cook  their  turkey  ?  Mrs.  Crusty 's 
stove  wouhhi't  hold  it.' 

'  O  they  had  no  stoves,  Eunice,  in  those  days, — 
only  a  big  open  wood  lire.  Things  to  roast  were 
stuck  up  on  a  stick  in  front  of  it,  sometimes,  if 
they  were  small;  or  hung'  u])  l)y  a  string,  and 
turned  slowly  round  and  round,  as  you  roast  ap- 
ples. But  it  must  have  taken  a  rope  to  hold  that 
turkey.' 

*  And  they  must  have  kept  Thanksgiving  for  a 
week  or  two,'  said  Eunice.  '  Who  staid  home 
from  church  to  watch  the  turkey  ? ' 

'There  was  no  church,  and  no  church  service, in 
all  that  region.     They  had  church  at  home; — put- 


CROSS  CORNERS.  331 

ting  by  their  work,  dressing  in  clean  frocks  and 
jackets;  and  then  singing  and  praying  and  read- 
ing the  Bible  together,  and  giving  thanks.' 

'  And  then  they  had  their  dinner — '  said  Eunice. 
'  Mother,  I  wish  I  could  see  'em  for  just  one  min- 
ute;— all  dressed  up  and  sitting  round  the  fire, 
and  turning  the  turkey  between  the  verses  of  the 
hymns.* 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

In  a  world  so  very  full  of  queer  things  as  is  this 
world  wherein  we  live,  it  would  seem  to  be  an 
easy  task  to  get  twelve  queer  things  together; — 
and  yet  Eunice  found  that  it  took  her  a  longtime. 
To  be  sure  they  were  to  be  inspected  by  Miss  Jane 
— and  Miss  Jane  was  a  very  critical  person,  and 
had  seen  '  so  much,'  as  Eunice  remarked.  There 
was  no  telling  what  she  would  think  worthy  of  a 
real  carpenter-made  box  with  a  glass  front. 

So,  like  most  other  collectors  I  suppose,  Eunice 
as  I  said,  put  in — and  put  out — of  her  little  assort- 
ment; bringing  homo  sotnothiiig  in  triumph  to- 
day, which  tomorrow  found  an  ignominious  liome 
in  the  ashes. 

Y^ou  know  I  told  you  she  grew  critical  herself, 
too:  learning  day  by  day  how  to  look  at  things, — 
how  to  look  into  them ;  and  not  merely  be  taken 
\vith  an  outside  show.  For  collecting,  is  an  ex- 
tremely pretty  bit  of  education. 
f332) 


CROSS  CORNERS.  333 

But  dear  me !  what  did  she  not  '  collect,'  in 
those  first  weeks  ?  Milkweed  pods  just  bursting 
open,  odd  knobby  bits  of  wood,  snail  shells,  wasp 
nests,  and  a  dead  beetle.  Mrs.  Keith  looked  at 
everything  as  it  came  in  and  answered  all  ques- 
tions; but  would  take  no  responsibility  as  to  re- 
sults. 

'  It  is  to  be  yonr  collection — '  she  told  Eunice. 
*  You  must  judge  for  yourself  what  is  really  worth 
putting  in  a  case.'  And  some  days  Eimice  thought 
nothing  was  worth  such  distinction, — and  some 
days,  everything  ;— so  that  she  kept  the  little  cot- 
tage in  a  lively  state  of  mind. 

One  thing  her  mother  insisted  on,  and  that  was, 
order.  Or  perhaps  I  should  rather  say,  orderli- 
ness. Eunice  had  a  drawer  wherein  to  bestow  her 
selected  things ; — and  then  she  might  make  all  the 
muss  she  liked  on  the  floor  or  the  table, — examin- 
ing, sorting,  preparing,  —  provided  always  that 
she  cleared  the  muss  away. 

'  People  should  never  make  their  pleasure  a  nui- 
sance to  anybody  else,'  Mrs.  Keith  said.  '  There 
is  no  reason  in  the  world  why  collectors  should 
not  be  just  as  tidy  as  other  people.  So  if  you  are 
not  sure  what  you  will  keep,  Eunice,  of  all  that 
basketful  of  things,  study  them  as  long  and  as  often 


334  CROSS    CORNERS. 

as  5'ou  like,  but  keep  them  in  the  basket  between 
whiles.  You  can  do  nothing  well  and  successful- 
ly in  this  world,  without  taking  the  needful  trou- 
ble.' 

'  It's  a  great  deal  of  trouble  I  have  to  take ! ' 
said  the  little  girl,  looking  ruefully  at  the  table 
and  then  at  her  hands,  which  were  marked  pretty 
decidedly  with  brown  stains.  'Just  see! — That's 
milkweed  juice.  I  wonder  why  it  don't  stay 
white  ? ' 

'  Never  mind :  I  bought  a  new  supply  of  soap 
yesterday,'  said  Mrs.  Keith. 

'  O  yes  ! — and  the  rain  brought  a  new  supply  of 
water,  too,  I  suppose,'  said  Eunice; — '  but  you  see, 
1  haven't  got  a  new  supply  of  patience.' 

'That  is  one  of  the  things  I  hope  all  this  col- 
lecting is  going  to  teach  my  little  daughter.' 

'Do  you?'  said  Eunice.  'Well  it'll  be  very 
nice  if  it  does.  But  oh  I've  got  one  such  lovehj 
thing  today  !  I'll  just  shew  you.  No — I  must 
wash  my  hands  first.  They're  sticky  enough  to 
keep  the  whole  collection,  without  a  box.' 

Eunice  ran  off  to  the  new  supplies  of  soap  and 
water;  and  probably  picked  up  a  little  patience^,  by 
the  way;  for  she  came  back  with  a  very  bright 
face. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  335 

'  It's  so  beautiful ! '  she  sai<l.  '  I  believe  it's 
worth  all  the  trouble,  just  its  own  self.     See  ! — ' 

Well,  it  was  certainly  beautiful,  if  not  very  rare. 
A  long  slender  feather,  of  deepest  blue;  barred 
and  crossed  from  end  to  end  with  jet  black. 

'  Isn't  it  just  'perfect  ? '  Eunice  cried  in  her  de- 
light. 

'  Perfect !  That  is  the  tail  feather  of  a  blue  jay, 
Eunice.' 

'0,  is  it? '  said  Eunice.  '  I  didn't  know  that. 
Those  big  blue  birds  with  a  crest  ?  Well  it  made 
me  think  of  something  you  read  out  of  the  Bible 
once,  — I  can't  just  remember  the  words.' 

'  Do  you  mean  these,  in  Job  ?  "  Gavest  thou  the 
goodly  wings  unto  the  peacock  ?  or  wings  and 
feathers  unto  the  ostrich  ?"  ' 

'  That's  it ! '  cried  Eunice :  '  "  goodly  wings." 
Well  this  is  a  '  goodly '  feather.  Miss  Jane  can't 
say  anything  about  this, — if  she  does  I'll  just  talk 
Job  to  her.' 

'  I  have  something  to  shew,  too,'  said  Mrs.  Keith, 
taking  a  little  package  from  the  table  drawer.  '  I 
went  over  to  see  Mrs.  Kip  this  morning,  and  she 
gave  me  this  for  you.' 

It  was  a  lovely  bit  of  coral,  white  and  perfect. 
Eunice  could  hardly  speak,  for  pleasure. 


330  C/!OSS  CORNERS. 

'  O  mother! '  she  cried.  '  Where  did  she  get  it  ? 
And  O,  what  made  her  give  it  to  me  ? ' 

'  Her  father  was  a  sailor,  and  brought  it  home 
from  one  of  his  voyages.  And  she  sent  it  to  my 
little  daughter,  •'  because  the  child  has  been  as 
good  as  gold,"  Mrs.  Kip  said.  "  She  has  come  and 
come;  and  I  have  been  just  as  cross  as  two  sticks 
to  her;  and  she's  never  given  me  one  saucy  word. 
Seemed  as  if  the  more  I  scolded,  the  sorrier  she  was 
for  me." 

But  now  Eunice  listened  through  gathering 
tears. 

'  Mother,  it  makes  me  so  ashamed,'  she  said. 
'  Because  I  think  I  did  feel  just  a  little  bit  provoked, 
sometimes.  When  she  scolded  very  hard,  you 
know.  Poor  Mrs.  Kip  !  I  am  real  sorry  for  her, 
too.  But  O  mother,  just  look  at  my  piece  of  coral  ! 
This  makes  eleven, — so  I've  only  got  to  find  one 
more.' 

That  was  not  to  be  done  in  a  minute.  "  Nine 
tenths  is  just  halfway'' — says  an  old  proverb;  and 
it  certainly  seemed  as  if  tiie  eleven  twelftliH  was 
not  a  bit  better.  Eunice  looked  and  searched: 
turned  over  stones,  went  poking  into  heaps  of 
leaves;  studied  the  roadside,  and  peered  into  the 
hedges.     No  use:  either  things  were    not  queer, 


CROSS  CORNERS.  337 

or  they  were  not  manageable,  or  she  had  them 
before. 

'  It's  just  tiresome  ! '  she  declared  one  day,  com- 
ing in  from  a  hunt. 

'  Things  always  are,  if  you  begin  at  the  wrong 
end,'  said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  Little  daughter,  you  are 
making  a  very  common  mistake.' 

'  I  think  everything's  common,  now-a-days,'  said 
Eunice.     '  What  mistake  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'  You  are  turning  pleasure  into  pain.' 

'O  well,  you  know  I  can't  help  that,  mother,' 
said  Eunice.  '  It  wouldn't  be  pain — if  I  could  find 
my  twelfth  thing.' 

'  Pleasure  out  of  its  place,  rarely  remains  pleas- 
ure,' said  Mrs.  Keith.  '  The  old  rule  of  "  business 
first,"  is  as  sweet  and  wholesome  as  it  is  prudent.' 

'But  then  you  know  I  haven't  any  business — * 
said  Eunice. 

Mrs.  Keith's  eyes  were  lifted  from  her  work  a 
moment,  and  gave  a  significant  glance  round  the 
room.     Eunice  coloured. 

'  0  yes,  to  be  sure, — I  didn't  finish  my  dusting,' 

she  said,  '  because  I  thought  I  knew  where  I  could 

find  it — my  twelfth  thing — and  I  just  ran  out  to 

see.     And  so  I  didn't  brush   up  the  crumbs  after 

dinner.     That  won't  take  long.     And  there  is  a  rip 
22 


338  CJIOSS  CORNERS. 

in  nj y  dross — '  she  added,  as  Mrs.  Keith's  eyes  now 
brought  the  charge.     '  But  mother — ' 

'  What,  daughter  ?  ' 

'  ^laybe  if  1  had  swept  up  and  finished  dusting, 
and  mended  my  frock  first,  I  should  have  got  all 
out  of  the  spirit  of  it.' 

'0  there  you  are  quite  mistaken,'  said  Mrs. 
Keith.  '  I  have  always  found  that  Duty  makes  a 
lovely  plain  path  for  Pleasure  to  walk  in :  clears 
away  the  briers,  rolls  away  the  stones.' 

'  Well  I  wish  the  briers  had  been  cleared  away, 
today,'  said  Eunice,  who  was  now  making 
thorough  work  with  her  dustpan  and  brush  where 
the  crumbs  lay;  '  for  some  of  'em  found  out  this 
place  in  my  dress,  and  gave  it  a  good  tear.  Im- 
pertinent things.' 

'  Friendly  briers — teaching  my  little  girl  a  les- 
son,' said  Mrs.  Keith  with  a  smile. 

'  Well  they  needn't  be  quite  so  friendly,'  said 
Eunice :  '  I'll  excuse  'em.  I  can  get  lessons 
enough  without  going  to  their  school,  I  fancy. 
O  twelfth  thing  ! — I  wonder  where  you  are  I  * 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

The  weeks  ran  on.  And  it  was  at  the  beginning 
of  the  very  last  week  of  Miss  Jane's  stay  at  Cross 
Corners,  that  Eunice  presented  herself  at  the  cot- 
tage one  afternoon,  and  reported  her  twelve  curi- 
ous things  ready  for  inspection.  Miss  Jane,  how- 
ever, taking  her  ease  in  the  autumn  sunshine  on 
the  porch,  looked  extremely  incredulous. 

'  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  found 
twelve  curious  things?'  she  inquired.  'When 
I've  been  here  all  summer  and  haven't  found 
one?' 

'  Perhaps  you  didn't  look — '  Eunice  suggested. 

'  Perhaps  I  didn't.  But  are  you  sure  they  are 
worth  looking  at,  Midget  ?  I've  got  very  sharp 
eyes.' 

'/look  at  them,'  said  Eunice,   throwing  off  the 

doubt  with  an  airy  gesture  of    her    head.     Miss 

Jane  eyed  her  with  an  amused  face. 

*  Well   there's  no  doubt  I   shall  see  one   queer 

(339) 


340  CROSS  COHNERS. 

thing,  if  1  go,'  she  said.  '  I  promised  to  go,  didn't 
I,  Midget  ? ' 

'  Yes  ma'am.     As  soon  as  I  liad  found  twelve.' 

'  Or  how  would  it  be  if  you  brought  them  up 
here  ?  Miss  Jane  went  on.  '  In  a  big  market 
basket,  you  know.     Hey,  Midget  ?  ' 

'  They  might  get  hurt  in  a  basket,'  said  Eunice, 
quite  sure  the  young  lady  was  laughing  at  her, 
but  standing  her  ground. 

'  So,  so  !  marked  '  fragile,'  are  they  ?  '  said  Miss 
Jane.  '  But  I'll  send  David  for  them, — he'll  be 
careful.' 

'  0  yes,  he'd  be  careful —  said  Eunice,  hesitat- 
ing. 

'  Well,  then  ?  ' 

'  But  he  don't  love  them  as  I  do,'  the  little  girl 
went  on.  '  And  so  he  wouldn't  know  so  well  how 
they  might  get  hurt.' 

'  You  are  the  most  profound  creature  in  your 
logic ! '  said  Miss  Jane, — '  and  clearly,  a  natural 
born  collector.  Well,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to 
go.  I  do  not  feel  like  assuming  the  risk  of  price- 
less specimens.  But  you  might  tell  me  what  they 
are,  first:  you  might  give  me  a  list,  Midget.  Or 
don't  you  know  ?  ' 

'0  yes,  ma'am,  I  know  ! '  cried  Eunice.     'And  I 


CROSS  CORNERS.  341 

know  just  which  one  came    first,    and  all   that. 

And  the  twelfth — I  thought  I    never  should  find 

the  twelfth,  Miss  Jane.' 

'Well  jou  know  I  don't  believe  you  have,  now,' 

said  Miss  Jane.     '  But  go  ahead,  and  let's  liear.' 
*The  first,'  said  Eunice  with  sparkling  eyes, — 

but  then  she  checked  herself.     '  ]\Iiss  Jane,  you'll 

like  them  a  rjreat  deal  better  if  you  see  'em  first. 

And  then  while  you're  looking,  you  know,  I  can 

describe  them  all.' 

'  Can  you  ! ' — said  Miss  Jane.     '  Then  I  must  go 

without  fail.     It  will  never  do  to  miss  a  lecture 
like  that' 

She  threw  herself  out  of  the  hammock,  ran  up- 
stairs for  her  bat,  and  in  five  minutes  more,  the 
two  were  going  side  by  side  down  the  road.  And 
Miss  Jane  thought  when  she  entered  the  little  cot- 
tage, that  it  was  a  very  pretty  place  indeed  for  a 
lecture.  The  neat  little  room  with  its  crackling 
wood  fire ;  the  fair-browed  mistress  at  her  many- 
coloured  work;  and  the  inpouring  afternoon  sun  to 
gild  and  glorify  eA'^erything  it  touched.  ]\Iiss  Jane 
looked  about  at  once  for  the  collection,  but  there 
was  no  sign  of  that. 

'  They're  all  in  the  drawer,'  Eunice  explained, 
catching  the  look.    '  Here's  the  rocking  chair,  Miss 


342  CROSS  CORNERS. 

Jane, — and  I'll  bring  'era  out  to  you  one  by  one.' 

'  Small  doses,  hey  ? '  said  Miss  Jane,  taking  the 
chair.  '  Now  don't  begin  with  the  best  thing 
you've  got,  thinking  to  dazzle  my  eyes.  Begin 
with  the  worst.' 

'  But  t  do  not  know  which  the  worst  is,'  said  Eu- 
nice, pausing  with  the  door  in  her  hand.  '  Or  at 
least  which  you'd  call  the  worst,  Miss  Jane.  I 
thought  I'd  shew  them  to  you  just  as  I  found  'em : 
first  my  number  one,  and  then  my  number  two.' 

'  Very  well, — go  ahead  and  take  your  own  way,' 
said  Miss  Jane.  '  But  do  you  intend  to  bestow 
them  all  in  my  lap?  Your  mother's  table  is  full ; 
and  I  do  not  believe  curiosities  would  agree  well 
with  these  silks  and  satins.' 

*  Bring  the  little  table  from  the  other  room,  Eu- 
nice,' said  Mrs.  Keith. 

So  Eunice  brought  the  little  table  and  set  it  be- 
fore Miss  Jane;  looked  it  over  very  critically  for 
any  possible  stray  grain  of  dust,  and  with  a  face 
grave  as  the  weighty  occasion  demanded,  went  off 
to  the  next  room  again.  The  two  who  were  left, 
smiled  to  each  other  with  full  sympathy  and  in- 
telligence ;  but  when  Eunice  came  back,  Miss 
Jane  turned  with  a  perfectly  serious  face,  to  listen 
and  look. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  343 

'  I've  told  you  about  this  one,  before,'  the  little 
collector  said,  laying  her  swallow's  nest  on  the 
table  before  Miss  Jane.  '  This  is  what  mother  calls 
'  a  fairweather  house ; '  because  it  was  built  as  if 
storms  couldn't  come.  See,  Miss  Jane, — the  swal- 
lows pick  up  the  sticks  and  carry  them  to  the  top 
of  the  chimney ;  and  then  they  fly  down  part  way ; 
and  then  with  some  sort  of  glue  they  have  in  their 
mouths,  they  fasten  the  sticks  together,  and  then 
up  against  the  side  of  the  chimney — so.  And  I  think 
it's  very  curious.' 

'So  do  I,'  said  Miss  Jane.  'A  house  made  of 
sticks  and  glue.  Then  if  they  had  driven  a  nail  or 
two,  you  think  it  would  have  been  better  ?  ' 

'Yes  ma'am.  Then  it  would  have  held  fast  when 
the  storm  came.' 

'  "A  nail  fastened  in  a  sure  place'' — '  Mrs.  Keith 
put  in  softly.     Miss  Jane  flushed. 

*  Number  one  is  allowed — 'she  said.  '  Now  let's 
have  number  two.' 

'  Well  number  two  is  another  nest,'  said  Eunice, 
as  she  came  back  again ;  '  but  it's  very  difierent. 
This  one  blew  out  of  the  maple  tree  ;  and  the  chip 
ping  birds  built  it.  And  only  see.  Miss  Jane,— it's 
quite  new:  they  hadn't  begun  to  live  in  it,  when  it 
blew  down.' 


344  C/^OSS  CORNERS. 

'  Good  for  tlieiu — '  Miss  Jane  remarked.  '  What's 
this  luade  of  ?  hay  ? ' 

*  Yes  ma'am  hay,  and  little  fine,  fine  roots.  0  it's 
all  so  pret-ty  ! '  said  Eunice  eagerly,  her  cheeks  be- 
ginning to  bloom  out  like  two  carnations.  '  I  told 
Davy  one  day  that  he  wasted  a  great  deal  of  hay ; — 
you  see  Miss  Jane,  the  oxen  were  just  jolting  the 
cart  along,  and  little  locks  (^f  hay  fell  here,  and 
little  locks  of  hay  fell  there.  So  I  told  Davy  that, 
and  he  just  laughed.  And  then  one  day — 0  a  good 
while  after — he  brought  this  in  and  told  nic  it  was 
some  of  his  '  waste  hay.' 

*  But  David  did  not  make  this  ? '  said  Miss  Jane, 
looking  curiously  at  the  exquisite  little  bit  of  bird- 
craft. 

'Ono,  ma'am! — Don't  you  see? 'cried  Eunice. 
'The  chipping  birds  picked  it  up  from  the  road — 
the  waste  hay,  as  I  called  it — and  built  their  nest 
It's  all  of  the  new  hay,  Davy  says,  with  roots  to 
make  it  strong; — and  the  little  hay  flowers  stand 
up  round  the  edge  like  a  fringe; — and  there's 
horse  hair  wound  round  and  round  inside.  And 
Davy  says    there  would  have  been  feathers.' 

'  When  it  came  to  the  upholstering,'  said  Miss 
Jane.  '  Midget,  it's  almost  enough  to  make  me 
turn  collector  myself.' 


CHOSS  COHNEJiS.  345 

Eunice  clapped  her  hands,  and  went  off  for 
number  three.  And  number  three  was  a  huge 
dead  beetle,  with  shining  yellow  wing  cases,  that 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  gilt  and  varnished. 
This  also  was  admired  and  set  on  the  little  table. 
But  when  number  four  came  in.  Miss  Jane  jumped 
from  her  chair. 

'  Good  patience  ! '  she  cried, — '  has  the  child  got 
a  snake  there  ?  Keep  off.  Midget ! — take  your 
treasure  away  !  I'll  count  it  in  without  examina- 
tion.' 

It  was  well  for  the  safety  of  number  four,  that 
it  was  pretty  solid  and  substantial; — for  at  this 
outcry,  Eunice  dropped  both  it  and  herself  right 
down  upon  the  floor,  in  a  tumult  of  childish  laugh- 
ter. And  ]\Iiss  Jane,  venturing  a  second  look,  saw 
that  it  was  in  truth  no  snake  at  all ;  but  only  the 
smooth  brown  stem  of  a  vine,  which  had  twined 
itself  in  regular  and  very  snaky  coils,  round  a  long 
stick  of  another  kind. 

'  Pshaw  ! '  she  said,  reseating  herself  '  Hush 
up,  Midget,  and  come  here  and  shew  off  your 
wares.  If  you  don't  look  out,  I'll  throw  this  one 
over,  anyhow.'  Eunice  picked  up  herself  and  her 
stick,  trying  hard  with  one  hand  to  smother  the 
laugh;    though  her  eyes  danced  yet,  and   every 


SAG  CROSS  CORNERS. 

uovv  and  then  an  irrepressible  little  chuckle  let 
itself  be  heard.  But  Miss  Jane  could  not  deny 
that  the  snaky  stick  was  very  curious, — and  so 
her  threats  fell  to  the  ground. 

'The  next  four  things,  ]\Iis8  Jaue,'  Eunice  said, 
when  the  stick  had  taken  its  place  by  the  birds' 
nests  and  the  beetle ;  '  all  the  next  four,  Davy  gave 
me.  lie  had  collected  them  for  himself,  you  see, 
in  the  first  place.' 

'  And  then  thinking  you  were  hard  put  to  it  for 
specimens,  he  gave  them  to  you,'  said  Miss  Jane. 
'  Well,  that  is  like  David,  as  I  know  him.  I  don't 
believe  that  fellow  ever  thinks  of  himself  first, 
from  one  weeks  end  to  another.' 

'  0  he's  just  the  dearest  boy  !'  cried  Eunice  ener- 
getically. '  And  so  he  gave  me  five,  six,  seven, 
and  eight.' 

'  I  hope  there  are  no  more  twining  things  among 
them,'  said  Miss  Jane  with  a  little  shiver.  '  T 
don't  like  even  make-believe  snakes.' 

'  O  these  are  not  snakes — '  said  Eunice,  running 
off  to  her  drawer  and  back  again.  'Number  five 
is  a  piece  of  wood,  though.' 

'  A  very  clumsy  piece,  too,  it  looks  like,'  said 
Miss  Jane.  '  Well  said, — ^is  this  some  of  David's 
own   carving?' 


CJ?OSS  CORNERS.  347 

It  was  a  long,  thick  l^it  of  pine  wood,  cleft  ir- 
regularly from  its  companion  piece,  and  with  sev- 
eral smooth,  narrow  channels  running  through  it 
from  end  to  end.  One  went  quite  to  the  end, 
finishing  there  m  a  round  hole ;  another  parted  off 
a  little,  and  ending  in  the  wood,  had  its  own  round 
hole  of  entrance  at  the  side.  They  were  perfect- 
ly smooth  and  round,  these  galleries;  as  large 
perhaps  as  a  pretty  good  sized  thimble ;  and  every 
little  way,  at  regular  distances,  the  gallery  was 
closed  from  side  to  side  by  a  thin,  even,  perfectly 
smooth  partition  wall.  Some  of  these  gray  walla 
were  pierced  with  a  little  round  hole,  some  not. 

•  David  never  made  this  ? '  Miss  Jane  repeated, 
studying  the  bit  of  wood.  Again  Eunice  clapped 
her  hands  with  delight. 

'  Then  you  don't  know,  either,'  she  said ; — '  that's 
just  splendid.  That's  a  carpenter  bee's  house. 
Miss  Jane, — and  she  made  it  all  herself.' 

'Made  it  all  herself?'  Miss  Jane  said, — 'what 
on  earth  for?  Bees  don't  live  much  indoors,  so  far 
as  I  can  remember.' 

•  0  no,'  Eunice  explained:  *  she  don't  live  there; 
but  she  makes  it  all,  with  her  own  little  tools. 
See  Miss  Jane — she  goes  in  here  first:  cuts  out 
her  front  door,  Davy  says.     And  then  she  chisels 


348  CROSS   COKNEHS. 

out  all  this  loug  gallery,  and  always  takes  herself 
for  a  measure; — thats  the  way  she  gets  it  so  even. 
And  she  don't  throw  all  the  chips  outside  the  door, 
but  carries  them  'way  oflf,  for  fear  some  of  her  ene- 
mies should  find  the  place.' 

'  Pray  do  bees  have  enemies? '  inquired  Miss  Jane. 
'I  always  thought  they  were  very  one-sided  I sh- 
maelites,  indeed.' 

'I  don't  know  what  that  means,'  said  Eunice, 
'  but  of  coiu'se  they  have  enemies.  Why  the  ich- 
ich — 0  I  don't  know  the  name  of  the  fly,  —  but 
there  is  a  fly  that  will  come  and  lay  its  eggs  right 
in  the  bee's  nest.  So  Mrs.  Bee  carries  off  her  chips. 
And  then  when  the  long  gallery  is  all  ready,  she 
lays  an  e^g  down  in  the  furthest  end,  and  puts  a  lit- 
tle bit  of  a  green  worm  there  too,  for  the  young  bee 
to  eat  when  he  comes  out.' 

'  Midget,'  said  Miss  Jane,  '  what  sort  of  stuff  are 
you  telling  me  ?     Bees  don't  eat  worms.' 

'  0  biit  he's  a  little  sort  of  a  worm  himself,  when 
he's  first  hatched,'  said  Eunice; — 'only  he's  white, 
I  think.     A  grub,  Davy  calls  him.' 

'  Green  worms  won't  sit  still  and  count  their  fin- 
gers, waiting  for  white  grubs  to  eat  them,  child. 
They'd  crawl  all  over  creation,  first.' 

'  Mrs.  Bee  takes  good  care  of  that,'  said  Eunice 


CROSS  CORNERS.  349 

triumphantly.  '  Sbe  fastens  Mr.  Green  Worm  so 
he  cant  get  away  ; — don't  kill  him  you  know,  but 
just  glues  him  head  and  tail.  And  then — see,  Miss 
Jane — she  builds  a  little  clay  wall  right  across  the 
gallery.' 

'  There  is  a  hole  in  that^^  said  Miss  Jane,  looking 
at  it  narrowly, 

'  Where  the  little  young  bee-grub  eat  his  way 
out,'  said  Eunice.  'You  know  he  couldn't  stay 
there,  Miss  Jane.' 

Miss  Jane  laughed  in  her  dry  way. 

'How  do  I  know?'  she  said.  'In  this  remark- 
able fairyland  region  to  which  I  am  introduced,  I 
do  not  seem  to  know  anything.  I  suppose  the 
next  curiosity  will  be  a  wasp  who  always  walks  on 
his  head.' 

'  Well  he  don't  just  do  that,'  said  Eunice,  run- 
ning off  again,  '  though  he  does  'most  stand  on  it 
sometimes.  When  he's  plastering.  Because  this 
Mr.  Wasp  builds  his  house  of  mud.  And  he  don't 
put  in  worms,  but  a  whole  lot  of  spiders.'  She  came 
back  with  the  mud  nest  in  her  hand. 

It  had  been  fastened  up  against  a  brick  wall,  and 
had  cleaved  off  smooth  and  even,  without  break- 
age. The  little  rooms  or  cells  here  lay  side  by 
side :  one  nearly  filled  with  the  young  wasp  in  its 


350  CROSS  CORNERS. 

chrysalis  state,  and  one  stored  with  small  spiders 
for  the  as  yet  unhatched  grub  to  eat.  The  spiders 
were  crippled,  so  that  they  could  not  get  away,  even 
now  when  the  nest  was  open. 

'  Where  did  David  get  this  ? '  inquired  Miss 
Jane. 

'  0  it  was  stuck  up  against  the  outside  of  farm- 
er Dickson's  big  chimney,'  said  Eunice.  '  And  in 
farmer  Dickson's  brook  he  found  my  other  nest. 
I  haven't  got  but  one  nest  more.' 

This  was  the  abode  of  a  little  caddis  worm, 
which  he  had  fashioned  for  himself  and  dwelt  in 
beneath  the  water.  A  little  tube  just  big  enough 
to  hold  him ;  smooth  within ;  and  on  the  outside 
all  rough  and  jagged  with  little  pebble  stones  ce- 
mented together  in  some  wonderful  way. 

'  Here  he  lived,  you  see,'  Eunice  explained,  'at 
the  bottom  of  the  brook.  When  he  wanted  to  eat, 
he  could  put  his  head  out,  and  eat, — and  if  he  saw 
a  fish  coming  along  that  wanted  to  eat  Am,  he 
could  just  pull  his  head  in  again.  And  Davj'  says 
when  he  went  out  walking,  he  always  took  his 
house  along.' 

'  1  don't  Boc  how  you  can  call  that  going  out  to 
walk,'  said  Miss  Jane.  '  Midget,  I  had  no  idea 
the  world  was  so  wonderful' 


CROSS    CORNEJiS.  351 

*  0  I've  got  ever  so  many  more  things,'  said  Eu- 
nice gleefully,  with  all  a  collector's  pride  in  his 
specimens.  'And  this  next  one  is  as  old — as  old 
— 0  it's  very  old,  Miss  Jane.  Davy  says  somebody 
told  him  it  was  in  the  world  before  Methusaleh 
was  born.' 

'Stuff!' — said  Miss  Jane.  'David  should  have 
more  sense  than  to  believe  such  stories.'  But 
then  she  w^as  suddenly  silent.  For  Eunice  laid 
in  her  hand  a  small  brown  stone,  on  which 
was  printed  deep  and  clear,  line  for  line,  the 
impression  of  a  lovely  little  scallop  shell.  No 
wax  impression  of  a  seal,  however  perfect,  could 
be  more  clear.  But  of  course,  when  the  little 
shell  lay  there  and  made  its  mark,  the  brown 
stone  must  have  been  just  a  soft  brown  mass — 
soft  as  the  wax  need  be  :  and  how  long  ago 
that  was,  nobody  could  tell.  Miss  Jane  sat  look- 
ing at  it. 

'  I  give  up — '  she  said.  '  You  shall  have  your 
box,  child,  even  if  you  don't  shew  me  another 
thing.     Did  David  find  this,  too  ? ' 

'  Yes  ma'am,  Down  at  the  bank  where  they're 
digging  the  new  road,'  said  Eunice.  '  But  I've 
got  my  twelve  things.  Miss  Jane;  and  there  are 
just  four  more,  though  I  s'pose  the-^'re  not  all  so 


852  CJiOSS  COKNEJiS. 

wonderful  as  that.     Number  nine,  is  just  a  dear 

little  bird's  egg,  Miss  Jaue,     Look.' — 

'  O  I  won't  have  you  robbing  the  birds  nests  I ' 
cried  Miss  Jane  briskly.  'You  may  just  count 
thai  out.' 

'  Why  I  didn't  ! '  said  Eunice,  looking  much 
hurt.  '  Do  you  think  I  would,  Miss  Jane  ?  Not 
for  ten  boxes.  Mother  found  this  lying  right  in 
the  path, — and  she  thinks  the  rain  must  have 
washed  it  out  of  the  nest ;  because  chipping  birds 
do  build  on  the  ground  sometimes,  and  this  is  a 
chipping  bird's  egg.' 

'  Is  it  ?  '  said  ]Miss  Jane.  '  Poor  little  birdie !  I 
hope  the  rain  didn't  drown  her.' 

'0  1  guess  not,'  said  Eunice.  'Because  you 
know  she  could  fly  away, — and  the  e^^  couldn't 
do  anything  but  roll.' 

'  Well  don't  lay  it  there,  or  you  will  find  that  it 
can  do  something  else  when  it  gets  to  the  floor,' 
said  Miss  Jane.  '  Hurry  up.  Midget — or  I  shall 
be  late  for  dinner.' 

'Number  ten,'  said  Eunice,  'is  this  goodly 
feather,  Miss  Jane.  Mother  says  it  once  belonged 
to  a  blue  jay.' 

Miss  Jane  gave  her  a  queer  look  out  of  her 
bright  eyes. 


CROSS  CORNERS,  353 

'  You'll  do  for  eleven  and  twelve,  yourself,'  she 
said.  'How  did  you  get  a  blue  jay's  feather,  if 
you  please  ?     Put  salt  on  his  tail  ? ' 

'  Well  I  rather  thiuk  I  didnt,"  said  Eunice,  with 
a  wise  shake  of  her  head.  '  He  must  have  been 
kind  enough  to  di-op  it  out  for  me,   himself.' 

'  Or  else  somebody's  cat  was  kind  enough  to 
catcli  him,  and  eat  up  all  but  one  tail  feather.' 

Eunice  looked  grave  at  that,  remembering  her 
o-wn  little  pussy  who  had  certainly  a  weakness  for 
birds  of  all  sorts.  She  went  off  to  the  next  room 
after  number  eleven, 

'  Miss  Jane,'  she  said  holding  her  hands  behind 
her  as  she  came  back,  '  you  like  my  tail  feather, 
don't  you?' 

'  Like  it  ? '  Miss  Jane  repeated  with  a  flash  of 
her  eyes, — '  I  should  like  to  see  you  sport  the 
whole  thing.     What  have  you  got  there.  Midget  ? ' 

'  Miss  Jane,'  said  Eunice,  '  do  you  know  Mrs. 
Kip?' 

'  I  have  not  that  pleasure.     Who  is  Mrs.  Kip  V 

'  0  she's  a  dreadfully  unhappy  old  woman,'  said 
Eunice.     *  And  she  lives  in  the  village.' 

•  Then  I  think  I  am  glad   I  do  not  know  her. 

She  must  be  dreadfully  small,  as  well — if  you  can 

hide  her  behind  your  back.' 
23 


354  CROSS  COJRiVERS. 

Eunice  laughed,  but  before  she  could  answer, 
Mrs.  Keith  took  the  word, — speaking  for  almost 
the  first  time  since  the  play  began. 

*  Little  daughter,'  she  said,  '  I  think  you  are 
bearing  false  witness.  Did  you  describe  Mrs.  Kip 
quite  exactly  ? ' 

'  Because  I  said  she  was  dreadfully  unhappy  ? ' 
said  Eunice.  '  Why  no — I  s'pose  I  didn't, — O 
no,  of  course  not!  I  mean.  Miss  Jane,  — you 
know  I  mean, — she  nvuld  be,  if  she  wasn't  such 
a  christian.' 

'  I  didn't  know  you  meant  anything  of  the  sort,' 
said  Miss  Jane.  '  So  you  had  much  better  speak 
exactly.' 

'  Well  she  is  a  great  christian,'  said  Eunice  with 
her  competent  air,  'and  so  she  sits  and  sings  all 
day  long.  The  harder  she  aches  the  more  she 
sings.  But  t  guess  I  should  be  pretty  unhappy, — 
and  you  too,'  the  little  girl  went  on,  discharging 
her  arrows  right  and  left,  as  she  displayed  the 
piece  of  coral. 

'  Her  father  used  to  go  to  sea,  Misa  Jane — O  a 
great,  great  while  ago, — and  then  he'd  bring  home 
queer  things.  And  once  he  brought  this;  and  Mrs. 
Kip  sent  it  to  mc.' 

'  I  can't  imagine  what   made  licr   give    a    little 


CROSS  CORNERS.  355 

monkey  like  you  such  a  rare  specimen,'  said 
Miss  Jane,  examining  the  coral  with  eyes  that 
understood  it, — she  was  more  at  home  here.  But 
Eunice  told  not  a  word  of  all  ]\Ir8.  Kip's  little 
message. 

'I  think  it  was  very  kind  of  her,'  she  answered 
simply.  '  I  believe  I'd  want  to  keep  all  my  pretty 
things  to  amuse  myself — if  I  was  Mrs.  Kip.' 

'  And  if  you  were  not  a  christian — '  said  Miss 
Jane  with  a  keen  glance  as  she  sent  her  return 
shot.     Eunice  drew  a  long  breath, 

'Yes,  if  I  wasn't,'  she  said.  '  If  I  was  Mrs. 
Kip  —  and  wasn't  a  christian — I'd  be  pretty  hate- 
ful, I  know  that.  '  0  dear !  there's  only  one  more, 
Miss  Jane  ! ' 

'  Good  for  me — if  I  am  to  have  any  dinner,'  re- 
sponded Miss  Jane.  '  What  is  it  ?—  the  shoe  of 
your  great  grandmother's  doll  ?' 

'  I  don't  believe  she  had  any  doll — said  Eunice, 
— 'out  there  in  the  clearing,  you  know.  Miss 
Jane.  But  it's  something  older  than  my  great 
grandmother  herself,  —  and  something  I  found 
myself, — too.  So  I  like  it  very  much.  Mother 
says  the  Indians  made  it.' — And  Eunice  laid  in 
her  friend's  hand  a  small,  beautifully  formed  flint 
arrowhead. 


356  CROSS  CORNERS. 

'  An  arrowhead ! '  cried  Miss  Jane.  '  Here,  at 
Cross  Corners  !  And  you  found  it,  do  you  say  ? 
You'd  better  not  let  Dr.  Magic  see  this.' 

'0  yes,  I  found  it,'  said  Eunice.  '  I  just  worried 
and  worried  about  my  number  twelve;  and  mother 
told  me  to  have  patience,  and  wait  and  look.  So  I 
waited  and  looked.' 

'  Without  the  patience — '  put  in  Miss  Jane. 

'  Yes  ma'am.  At  least  I  didn't  have  much,'  said 
Eunice.  '  But  I  did  keep  at  my  work.  Mother  says 
it  makes  one's  eyes  clearer  to  do  the  work  first. 
And  then  one  day  I  was  sailing  boats  in  the  brook, 
and  bringing  'em  down  through  the  rapids;  and 
they  would  turn  over — and  then  1  put  in  stones  to 
keep  'em  steady.  And  one  of  the  stones  I  picked 
up  was  this.  I  didn't  know  what  it  was,  only  I 
thought  it  was  curious;  but  mother  knew.' 

'  It's  the  prettiest  one  I  ever  saw,'  said  Miss 
Jane  admiringly.  '  And  you  have  earned  your 
box,  twice  over.  First  by  the  things  themselves, 
and  then  for  having  such  a  wise  little  head  on 
your  shoulders,  and  such  a  patient  little  heart.' 
And  Miss  Jane  drew  the  child  to  her,  and  kissed 
first  one  cheek  and  then  tlio  other. 

Eunice  flushed  higli  wiMi  gratification;  but  i^ 
was  a  verv  modest  little  vciii- >  tlmt  answerQfl. 


CROSS  CORNERS.  357 

'  I  think  it  was  all  mother,  Miss  Jane.' — 
What  a  wonderful  box  that  was,  that  came  as 
soon  as  the  carpenter  could  make  it !  Much 
larger  than  Eunice  expected, — it  would  hold  a 
good  many  '  twelve  things : '  made  of  cherry 
wood,  smooth  and  polished,  with  beautiful  clear 
glass  doors  in  front,  and  brass  hinges,  and  actual- 
ly four  shelves  inside.  And  what  a  show  the 
nests  and  the  coral,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  twelve 
things  did  make  inside !  There  was  also  a  brass 
lock  and  key  to  it ;  and  when  Eunice  had  arranged 
her  treasures,  and  turned  the  key,  there  was  but 
one  thing  to  hinder  her  being  absolutely  and  com- 
pletely happy.  You  know  there  generally  is  one 
thing, — and  in  this  case.  Miss  Jane  had  gone 
away,  and  taken  David  with  her.  She  went  back 
to  her  winter  of  city  life,  and  David  to  a  much 
better  school  than  anything  Cross  Comers  could 
furnish.  For  Miss  Jane  had  taken  up  all  his  plans 
and  desires;  and  meant — so  far  as  she  could — to 
carry  them  out. 

'  Dear  me,'  Eunice  said,  '  things  are  dreadfully 
mixed  up !  There  was  that  horrid  quarter  of  a 
dollar,  that  I  made  such  a  fuss  about,  and  tlmt 
brought  Miss  Jane.  And  now  Miss  Jane  has  tak- 
en away  Davy.' 


358  CROSS   CORNERS. 

'  And  now  David  is  to  be  a  minister — you  must 
put  it  so,'  said  Mrs.  Keith. 

'  Yes,  I  s'pose  I  must,'  said  Eunice,  drawing  a 
long  sigh.  '  I  wonder,  when  Davy's  a  minister, 
what  we  shall  be.' 


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